Six Degrees of a St. Johns' Missionary by Austin Davis and Lisa James

Have you ever heard of the parlor game “Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon”? It is a game that can link any one in the Hollywood industry to Kevin Bacon through their film rolls in six connections or less.

This can also be done with missionaries- it truly is a small, small world! Elder Kyle James has already met people who have served missions with or have had other connections with other St. Johns missionaries in Germany. He even ran into Charly Sauer, a former exchange student from SJHS, at the train station in a large German city. For our seemingly big world, there are truly many, many blessings of connections, love and home!

The following is my favorite “Six Degrees of a St. Johns Missionary."

Austin Davis-

Well, I met Josh Melanson when I got transferred to Hillsboro, Oregon. When I met him, he instantly reminded me of myself, sleeping through church, not sure what he was doing there, not sure if it was even true. I remember our first Sunday in the ward. I asked him, “Hey Josh, you want to come out to a lesson with us tomorrow?” He said, "Sorry, I'm busy." I laughed and said, “Your dad told me that you don't have anything to do tomorrow. We will pick you up at ten.” He didn't realize that he had met someone that was just as stubborn, if not more, than him. So we went and knocked on Josh’s door. His mom answered and said he was still sleeping. I said, “No worries; I'll wake him up.” I opened the door and told him he had time to get up, but we were going out and we would be downstairs waiting. He eventually made it downstairs.  So we made it a weekly thing, picking Josh up. Then it turned into a daily thing. He was constantly asking questions. He was just like a sponge, learning everything! Then he made the decision to go on a mission. I remember when Elder Hunsaker and I went and watched Josh open his call. He was so excited! His call to the Germany Frankfurt mission was definitely a huge surprise. I knew then, and I still have a sure knowledge to this day, that Elder Josh Melanson was one of the big reasons, if not the biggest, why I was called to Oregon.

Lisa and Elder Kyle James (serving in the Germany Frankfurt Mission)-

During the school year, my son, Trevor, came home from Seminary and told me he had just heard one of the best missionary homecoming lessons. Austin Davis just came home and talked about a young man he taught and worked with that later went to the Germany Frankfurt mission. What a cool coincidence!

So in my next letter to Kyle, I told him to be on the lookout for an Elder Josh Melanson. A few weeks later, he had been to a zone conference and sent us a picture of himself and Elder Melanson. Pretty neat! A nice connection to home!

In a recent letter, Kyle told us that he has been a little stressed being a District Leader and a trainer. He has a big district and there are a few difficulties in it. A few weeks later, Kyle added: “After our District Leader meeting, Elder Melanson, Austin Davis’s friend, and I went on a split together in Gießen. We had a way good talk about stress and the district and stuff. I love Elder Melanson. I am so thankful for Austin for getting him on a mission. Elder Melanson really helped me out. Crazy small world huh? Austin helped Melanson... Now Melanson is helping me. CRAZY! Thanks Austin!”

This touched my heart! Not only did a sweet missionary help our son, but it happened to be the very one who Austin felt he went on a mission to help.

This world can be a big, bad, scary place! To find a connection to someone from home can make it all the nicer. What a blessing this simple connection between two St. Johns missionaries has been!

I know that our Father in Heaven makes sure that we are taken care of; that we can find help and love from family and friends, even half way around the world. It is a wonderful small town life! It is a wonderful small world, as well.

(That was only a 2-degree of separation St. Johns missionary story. I bet there are hundreds more!)

Picture- Elder Melanson on the Left, Elder James in the middle- no name missionary on the right knows the Brent and Tobie Overson family. :)

Elbow Grease by Roxanne Brown

For my mother, the principle of work was right up there with the First Principles of the Gospel. She believed that good hard physical labor was a cure for any kind of mental or emotional distress along with many other ills. We all remember her comments of, “Put a little elbow grease into it,” as she encouraged us to work a little harder. She also derived great pleasure from the action of physical labor and somehow managed to teach all of her children to enjoy “working” as well.

Recently, I spent a day hoeing and weeding out a garden with my sister. She was quite surprised to find that I could quickly hoe through several rows while she did one. “How did you learn to do that so fast?” she asked. I thought about it a moment and with a smile responded, “Just living in St. Johns!”

A flood of memories came to my mind of being at Great-Grandma Elda Brown’s house- how she managed to have us all out in her garden, teaching the correct way to hoe and finding her bonnet for those who forgot to bring their hat. And, she made it fun! There was always a sense of community with all of the Brown family gardens. When it was time for irrigation, everyone moved from garden to garden to get them all “cleaned out.” That irrigation schedule was the best motivator ever. Grandpa Jack Brown further refined upon the tricks of the trade and just how to “hill up” around the little corn plants and “building up” the integrity of the rows. There were races to see who could get to the end of the row first and bragging rights for the most rows cleaned out. I noticed other gardens in town and smiled as I watched families working together. Oddly enough, this observation gave and still gives me a sense that all is right with the world.

As our children grew, we had a desire to teach them not only how to work, but to find pleasure in it as well. The garden was a great laboratory full of natural consequences. For example, weeds become much more labor intensive to remove if they get too big. There is much to learn about the stewardship involved in the harvest. Most of all, I think of the memories, the many talks I had with my children as we worked side by side in the garden. I think of the sunsets enjoyed and the pleasing sound of the irrigation ditch water gurgling and running down the rows.

I know I owe much of my love of gardening to St. Johns, a little oasis that is blooming with values, especially during the gardening season. And, I think my mother is probably right about the principle of work being right “up there” in the principles arena and that a little “elbow grease” can cure most ills.

Lessons Learned from 1961-1963 by David Albert Brown

Each day that I work in my office in downtown St. Johns, I try to take a few moments and contemplate the history of the building. My grandfather, Joseph Albert Brown, served as the St. Johns' Postmaster for many years. When I was a little boy, half of the building was the post office and the other half was my grandmother's Variety Store (which was an antique version of Dollar General). As I sit and remember my grandfather, I am reminded of the important life lessons that I learned attending his and four other funerals during 1961-1963, when I was 6 to 9 years old.

In late March of 1961, I witnessed the entire community come together as planes landed and took off incessantly looking for Virgil and Farr Whiting. They were my dad's older first cousins and, in the Whiting family in St. Johns, first cousins are the same as brothers. All of Dad's first cousins in St. Johns have always been my "aunts and uncles." I remember praying fervently in family prayer that they would be found. I remember the massive funerals and feeling a sense of profound loss for the community of St. Johns. My heart ached for my two second cousins my age who lost their fathers. I never told them this, and they are now both gone.

A few weeks later, my grandfather died at the age of 66 on April 21, 1961. My favorite memory of my grandfather was sitting in the middle of the pickup seat between my dad and my grandfather driving to the farm or the ranch. Grandpa Brown had an amazing ability to make me feel like I was the most important kid in the world. Mom, Dad, Norman, and I visited Grandpa in Albuquerque not too long before he died. I will never forget him telling us that he loved us even though he could barely speak through a tracheotomy from his throat cancer. The impact of the funeral hit me when I touched my grandpa's cold face and saw my dad cry for the first time.

One of my father's favorite uncles was Edwin Isaacson Whiting, known as Uncle E.I. As such, he was also my favorite great-uncle. Life was never richer than when listening to my dad talk to Uncle E.I. about ranching, business opportunities, politics, and family issues. He was a one-man adventure team. Uncle E.I. passed away on January 4, 1963. I was so impressed with the grace and charitable disposition of Uncle E.I.'s good wife, Aunt Ethel. Later, when I was in high school, I had the privilege of home teaching Aunt Ethel with my father. She lived right across the street from the church. It was a royal treat to be hosted by one of the most graceful, proper women I have ever known. Even after burying her husband, four sons, and a son-in-law, she still lived life to the very fullest. She died during my senior year of high school. Partly from the urging of Uncle E.I., Dad ran for the Legislature and began serving several days after Uncle E.I.'s funeral. That decision changed my family's life. In January 1963, we moved to Scottsdale for the legislative session where I disliked the rest of third grade.

The last funeral that impacted me from 1961-1963 was that of President John F. Kennedy, who was assassinated on November 22, 1963. Anybody around my age or older remembers exactly where they were when they heard about the shooting. I was playing basketball at the Pioneer School during lunch time. I will forever remember the feeling of community in St. Johns. For one week in St. Johns, the Catholics and the Mormons prayed together, rang bells together, worshipped together, mourned together, and drew closer together. Truly the worst of times can be the best of times. Indelibly imprinted in my mind is the little black and white TV we had at our house and watching the funeral procession down Pennsylvania Avenue while little John John saluted his father as his body passed by. My entire family wept. Political differences seemed so trivial at the time.

During that 2 1/2 period of my young and impressionable life, I learned many lessons, but these are the most important that I remember now:
1. The Comforter is real, especially in times of tragedy.
2. Family bonds are eternal.
3. God loves little boys.
4. Living in St. Johns is a laboratory of the human experience, and everything good can be found here in spite of death and tragedy.

Four Hundred Ninety by Ina Overson

Last night I had the privilege of attending a truly delightful wedding reception at the fairgrounds in St. Johns. The bride was radiant, her groom adorably proud, and their parents gracious and kind. The decorations were somehow cozy and elegant at the same time and the food was delicious! I looked around at friends and neighbors cheerfully visiting and felt like I had been transported into a Country Time Lemonade commercial! Warm feelings were plentiful and visible on the faces of those around me. Thus is life in a small town…sometimes.

I have also attended events in St. Johns, from city council meetings to Little League baseball games, where there was nothing remotely ideal. The only warmth radiated from tempers barely kept under control--or not. Hostility was abundant and evident on the faces of those present. On these occasions, many of the very same friends and neighbors had found themselves on opposites sides of important issues or even insignificant quarrels. A well-meaning teacher had made a mistake or someone’s tender feelings had been bruised. Sides were chosen. Loyalties were tested.

Such situations are inevitable in small towns. We work together; we coach each other’s children, serve on the same boards and compete for the same promotions. Many of us have known one another for so long that we have had countless interactions and numberless opportunities to offend each other. If you grew up in St. Johns, it is likely that there were wonderful individuals who nurtured, taught and inspired you. It is just as likely that there were individuals who broke your heart, caused you physical pain or even crushed your dreams. Good or bad, these experiences involve people you still know and associate with on a regular basis. If you are raising children here, these experiences become even more acute and impactful!

How do we get beyond these things? Why do we stay when, often, it would be easier to leave? How do we continually associate with former enemies or people we simply do not like? How can we live in such close proximity, sometimes for generations, without becoming the Hatfields and McCoys? I don’t claim to know the answer to these questions for everyone. For me, the answer is forgiveness.

     

In the New Testament, Matthew recorded an infinitely important conversation on this topic between the Savior Jesus Christ, and his apostle, Peter: “Then came Peter to him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? Till seven times? Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, until seven times:  but until seventy times seven.” (Matthew 18:21-22) When I think of forgiving someone who has hurt me, (or worse, my child) 490 times, it just seems excessive! However, when I consider being forgiven 490 times, it seems like not nearly enough. I make mistakes all the time! I made them as kid and I make them now. I am so grateful for people who are willing to forgive me! I feel especially grateful for those who assume the best of me; those who realize that I am just a person doing the best I can to live a good life.  I strongly believe that if we all recognize this about each other, we can continue to forgive. If we can continually forgive, with the help of the Lord, we can dwell happily in this small town…at least most of the time.