The Pen

Dad,

      It’s May 4^th, 2013 and we came in from working not so long ago.  I sat this evening and decided I would write to you.  I’m using the Jinhao fountain pen you sent me.  I love it a lot.  I will share with you a very cool story about it in a few lines.  Maybe you are wondering why I’m writing this letter on the back of a ‘The Family-A Proclamation to the World’ handout.  The cool answer might be something like, “We are deep in the jungle and all we have is a tin of fish, a pen, and this paper,” but the real reason is because this proclamation means a lot to me.

      By the time you receive this letter I will have been away from home for one-year-three-months.  That’s a long time, but it has flown by too fast.  I love my mission.  Words will never describe how thankful I am to have this opportunity to serve my Heavenly Father.  What did I do to be so blessed as to have this privilege?  I feel I have learned a lot.  I also feel I have given a lot, but the feeling remains that I need to learn much more, and give much more.

      As I said, I want to share with you a story of a tender mercy the Lord showed me.  When I got your package a few weeks back I was excited to see this pen.  I remember you telling me in an email how you wrote in your mission journal with a similar pen.  Well, this pen not only represents a priceless gift from my father, but also is a link to you and your missionary service.  Sadly, the pen had no ink in it when I first got it.  However, after two weeks I found a store that sold pen ink for fountain pens.  I paid my nine dollars (80 rand) and went on my way.  It happened to be P-day, and when we got back to the boarding I excitedly set up everything ready to fill the pen.  I accomplished the filling and placed the pen on the table without the cap on.  I bent down to pick up something and heard a sound I did not want to hear.  The pen had rolled off the table and hit the ground.  Worse off, it landed on the tip, not only spraying a jet-stream of black ink everywhere, but bending the tip badly out of shape.  I picked up the pen and felt so sad, just as a young child would as he watches his balloon float upward farther and farther out of reach into the blue sky.

      I took the pen to the bathroom and examined it in the sink.  I was wondering, “Where in South Africa would I find another tip?”  I then took the pen apart and began to feel the bend.  I looked at it again and found the tip was in perfect shape.  No blemish, no crease?   I was amazed!  I know how it happened; Heavenly Father showed me a tender Mercy.  I did not ask, nor pray for him to fix the pen, but He knew what it meant to me.  Yes, a simple experience, but my testimony that He knows me and loves me grew a little more.

      We are having two more baptisms on Sunday.  Those are sweet experiences.  Oh, I also remembered something else I wanted to share:  I continue to be surprised at the whisperings of the Spirit.  All through my youth I heard people talk of the ‘Still Small Voice,’ yet I was always looking for a ‘burning in my bosom’ that would knock me on my keister.  I am surprised at how much of a still and small voice it really is; a voice that one feels more than hears.  The Spirit is there.  He is real.  We are not always there.  We need to tune in to feel his guidance and presence. 

I Love You,

            

      Elder Landon T. Gold