with a hobble

A memory from my time as a missionary. ______

Emery County is full of farms. There are so many farms that the cow population outnumbers the people population. I spent the first six months of my missionary service in this desert county. Emery is home to roughly 10,000 people who are scattered amongst a handful of towns and villages– nothing big enough to call a city. The desert wasteland reminds you of the movie Holes. You can see for miles and miles and miles and the only reason people live there is because they run the farm they inherited or they live on the hope of discovering Butch Cassidy’s hidden gold.

A few weeks into my missionary service my companion, Elder Finnie, and I were asked to preach in the coming Sunday’s service. Finnie had served in Emery County for over six months which meant he knew everyone, including all their cows, and everyone loved him. He was a superstar. I felt like I was walking around with Matthew McConaughey every day which made me any co-star of McConaughey– irrelevant and forgettable.

That week I asked my extremely experienced companion for advice on what to preach and how to execute it, yet still found myself incredibly nervous on Sunday morning. The Bishop introduced us and I stood first to deliver my message. Bishop asked me to tell the congregation a little bit about myself because I was new to the area. “I’m from Washington,” I started. “A land north of here that is much more lush and green and wet…” I explained why I was having a hard time acclimating to the painfully dry weather, or at least why my skin was. To show how bitter the adjustment had been I lifted my hands, knuckles toward the congregation, to show that my hands were cracked, dry, and bleeding. LITERALLY BLEEDING! As messy as a kindergartener’s hands on finger painting day!

I expected some gasps or tender sighs. Nope. Quite the opposite. They laughed! The people chuckled at my plight. I quickly lowered my hands, rambled my sermon, and sat down quietly. It was bad enough that I was nervous and felt unprepared for my first speech as a missionary. I blew it. So embarrassing. To make it worse my companion was everyone’s favorite missionary. Not just between the two of us, but of all-time. He shared a gripping story, had the crowd in tears, and finished with a powerful witness of Jesus.

After the meeting, herds of people approached him to thank him for his message. Others came to share similar stories and even more to ask for his inspiration and quotes. I remained seated, lonely and frustrated at his wild success. “Why am I doing this?” I thought, “If I leave he’d do it all, likely better, and no one would even notice the difference.” As Finnie bounced between huddles autographing deacons ties and taking pictures with missionary moms I noticed an old man at the back of the chapel. He began to hobble toward the stand where I remained seated. His thick cane and heavy limp accompanied his long walk to the front. He wore a suit jacket that didn’t match his pants and repped grayish white hair. He was practically bald, yet intricately combed each hair in its place. He walked alone, but walked with strength. Determined, but in no hurry.

I KNEW he was coming to speak with me, but about what in particular? Too many thoughts ran through my head at this point. “He’s experienced. Probably coming to correct something I taught wrong. Or he’s coming to scold me for my dejected attitude. Or maybe he wants me to share Finnie’s quotes with him.” The nerves all came back as he finally made it to where I was sitting. He stood over me and I rose to greet him. He held out his hand, which I shook, and locked his eyes with mine. While shaking my ailing hand he turned it over to see my knuckles. Loosening his grip he opened his hand to let my cracked, bleeding hand rest in his. He paused and stared at my wounds. Slowly his gaze lifted back up to my eyes. He spoke with a slight drawl and a healthy mix of sterness and tenderness at the same time–cowboy style just like you’re imagining. “Son,” another pause “you need some udder cream.”

Now remember I’m not from Emery County. I don’t speak farmer. I grew up in a city that had more golf carts than people. This area, these people, and this language was foreign to me. You can imagine what was going through my mind. This old, maybe certifiable, man has just told me I need udder cream after staring at my damaged hands. So I did what only seemed appropriate– I laughed and sarcastically answered back, “Ok. Sure. Sounds good.” Still holding my hand in his he repeated again, but more stern this time, “No, son. You need some udder cream.” He didn’t seem like the joking type, but I decided to play his little game.

“Ok, sure. What’s udder cream?”

“Son. Trust me. Just get some udder cream.”

“Perfect. Where can I get some udder cream?”

“Go into Castle Dale. On Main Street there’s a store called Magnuson Lumber. It’s on the way out of town. You can’t miss it. You’ll find some there.”

I knew the street well. All of the local businesses run on that street. Plus, there are only four other streets in the entire town. The following day was Monday–preparation day. I knew that we would be driving down Main Street on our way out of town en route to the Walmart in Carbon County. This meant we’d have to pass Magnuson Lumber.

The closer we got the more anxious I became because I didn’t know how to tell my companion I needed some udder cream. For all I knew this joke was played on him months earlier. I waited as long as I could and seconds before we got out of town I sheepishly asked, “Hey, Elder, do you mind if we stop at Magnuson Lumber?” He looked at me, his wrinkled face matching his confusion before saying, “You know that’s a hardware store, right? What do you need from there?” Now that I had brought up the idea I couldn’t back out and said, “ummm… let’s just go check it out.” He shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, and agreed to entertain my request.

We pulled into Magnuson Lumber and noticed two cars in the parking lot. We entered the store and based on the response from the employees you woulda thought we were members of One Direction. The girls were SO excited to see us. We must have been the first customers in months. “ELDERS! Elders! Welcome to Magnuson Lumber. What can we help you find?” By this point Finnie was just as interested as they were. He leaned up against the door frame and folded his arms waiting for my response. I said, “Oh, we just came to look around.” They were so eager to help us they asked again “no, really. What can we help you find?”

I looked down, took a deep breath, and muttered,

“Do you guys have some udder cream?

What came next was completely unexpected.

“YES” they shouted in unison, “We do! Right up here at the front.”

Oh. My. Word. It’s real! I didn’t plan this far and hesitantly asked, “so what is it?

The older employee took over and responded, “Well normally farmers use the cream for their cows teats when the skin becomes dry and cracked from the weather. But lots of people use it on their hands, too.” At this point I nodded, gained confidence, and smiled as I looked down at my bloody hands. “Sounds great!”

She continued, “We sell the tube, the bottle, or the tub. Which would you like?” With a sigh I looked down at my hands once more, then out the window at the cold, brisk weather. As I looked back to her I replied, “I’ll take the tub!”

I used that holy cream every day the remainder of my missionary service and even to this day. My hands stay moisturized and never look like that painting kindergartner’s hands anymore. All thanks to my cowboy friend they’ve become smooth as a baby’s bottom. Everyone in that congregation knew how to solve my problem, yet he was the only one who offered the solution. What had become commonplace for the farmers was totally unfamiliar to me. This old timer taught me a lesson I won’t soon forget.

Sometimes we have to help with a hobble and lend a hand while we limp. Outsiders who are hurting need others who have found the healing. Before long, foreigners become friends and the lonely and damaged leave determined to love the same way they’ve been shown.

And who would have guessed? All it took was a limp, a cane, and a tub of cream. 🙂