As a missionary, I was often asked if I had a picture of my girlfriend. This presented a conflict with mission rules saying that I should put out of my mind thoughts of home, school, my girlfriend, and “worldly” things. Uh-huh. I went along with this idea in spirit but realized these rules were written by men who had not been 20 for some time.
For me the problem was compounded by the fact that MK was a real looker -- and she was waiting for my return from Canada. If I showed them her picture, they would wonder if I was following missionary rules -- nothing worse than some yahoo missionary who carries a picture of his girlfriend around with him, talking about her all the time. Even worse, some of them may be inspired to go back to BYU and look her up. Another option would be for me to simply dismiss the question altogether and tell them that I did not have a girlfriend. As I pondered this, I remembered the Old Testament scripture about bearing false witness. As missionaries, we did a lot of praying and it just didn't make any sense to say one thing and do another and then pray for help. After all, I had been taught by Mark Twain when I read Huckleberry Finn in grade school that you can't pray a lie. Telling the truth about MK would pose a conflict with the spirit of mission rules; lying was even worse, and I did not want to do either. It was a delicate balance -- and I needed a solution.
Help came from my junior companion, Elder Sam Smith from Preston. Sam had the conflicting qualities of being a strong missionary with a solid testimony and his absolute refusal to wear anything but cowboy boots, which were against the mission dress standards. His cowboy speak was not particularly eloquent or flowery, however, if you listened carefully, what he said was plain-spoken English, laden with practical wisdom. Sam taught me how to deflect questions that I did not want to answer. When asked if he had a picture of his girlfriend, he would pull out his wallet and show them a picture of his John Deere 4020 Diesel tractor. I can still hear him say, “Isn’t she a ‘beaut? She’s a real Deere.”
Sam came from a family that basically farmed to support their addiction to hunting mountain lions. While Sam was still in high school, his father was the bishop. One Sunday, his father was conducting the opening exercises for sacrament meeting. Sam’s uncle burst into the meeting, still in work clothes, and passed a note to Sam’s father who read it and exclaimed to the congregation: “There’s a cat in the hills, men!" He handed the program to his first counselor and told him to finish conducting the meeting. Racing off the podium, he rushed out the door with over half of the men in the congregation right behind him. The more I heard about his father, the more I thought Sam must have been just like him. A few years back, they made Sam a bishop in Preston. I would like to have been in the congregation — I wonder if he still wears those black cowboy boots?
Like Sam, I was from Idaho but didn't have a tractor. His deflection strategy worked best for me with another object of distraction. When asked if I had a picture of my girlfriend, I would say, “Oh, you don’t want to see her — she is a real dog.” While they politely protested, I would pull out my wallet and show them a picture of a Black Lab. It worked every time.
This strategy morphed into one of those things that I still do to annoy my family. When I spot a dog riding in a car, I like to laugh and point it out. “See that man’s girlfriend? She’s a real dog!” It still works on my grandchildren, who groan just like their parents did when they were little.
After returning to Idaho, I put MK's picture in a new wallet and married her a few months later. That was 53 years ago -- today.
Ever vigilant, RT
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