A Cautionary Tale

If any of you attempt to contact me at my cell phone number, you will get my message service. I will continue to check for your messages, and I will tell you if the number changes within 7-10 days. There is a good reason for this. It all started at the stake scout camporee in North Platte, NE.

The stake met at Whispering Cedars, a nice little scout camp on the shore of a moderately sized reservoir outside North Platte. As we were finishing up our lunch (dutch oven roast and potatoes) I retrieved my necessary supplies and followed a dusty path up a grass covered hillock to answer nature's call. At the end of this path sat a solitary building, constructed of simple painted cinderblock adorned with a plastic roof. From previous experience, I knew that it was divided down the middle with mirror facilities and featured two entrances labeled simply "Youth" and "Adults." I also knew that despite its rather simple design and utilitarian decor, it lacked certain amenities, such as doors to provide the customary privacy, and that it had a rather unpleasant odor about it. I did not move quickly, as this was a task that I did not rush to complete, though it was certainly inevitable. My only choice was to choose the time and place of its occurrence.

On the way, I had a very pleasant conversation with a member of stake young men's presidency. Though somewhat distracted by a growing sense of urgency from within, I continued with him for a moment, discussing the high quality of this morning's group breakfast, the impressive facilities, last night's sleep, and other light matters. After an appropriate amount of time, I broke off my conversation with a rather casual and self-deprecating acknowledgement of my destination and intentions, motioning toward the top of the path with my outstretched hand, still holding to the materials so soon to be utilized. We made our perfunctory farewell and I all but scurried onward.

As I reached my destination, I swiftly proceeded to the final stall, as it would afford me the most privacy, and positioned myself to begin the afternoon's most vital work. In my now hasty preparations to unfasten, loosen, and otherwise commence with my labor, I felt something slip from my right side and heard a solitary splash somewhere deep below me. My heart sank. It is customary to hear the results of personal deposits in a place like this, however, it had occurred much earlier than expected.

I looked quickly at my right hip, upon which always sits my cellular phone, that wireless device prescribed to me by the City and so readily used by both friend and coworker in communicating things of urgent and trivial nature. Instead, I saw only the last several inches of my belt, pulled somewhat free to the second belt loop by the weight of the phone, now hanging empty at my side. I slowly peered into the dark and rank abyss from which now only the echo of splashing water answered my anguished look of frustration. I knew that somewhere in that semi-liquid depth, was my phone, perhaps not even 10 feet away. For one fleeting moment, I thought, "Perhaps I could get it back."

The thought quickly left my mind, and for one brief, and weak moment, I uttered a single word, "Snap!" (Editor's note. To be quite frank, it was not "snap" at all, and the author worried that someone might be within earshot.) It was with a mournful sigh that I took my seat and began to ponder the situation. I must have been the very picture of Auguste Rodin's "The Thinker" as I asked myself a series of questions, like:

"What was I thinking? This almost always happens with this belt!"
"There is no way of retrieving it now, the opening is much too small for me to fit."
"Perhaps we could lower down a scout? No, wait a minute. There is probably a law or something."
"I wonder if they could get it out when they empty the tank? If they could, I still don't think I want it."
"I wonder if I could hear it ring if we called..."
"What is Becky going to say when I tell her I need to buy a new cell phone?"
"What is the mayor going to say?"
"Is there no balm in Gilead?"

My return to camp was a forlorn journey, to be sure. The sky had paled, birdsong scorned my pain, and all around me were scouters enjoying themselves, oblivious to the tragedy that had just befallen. All the pleasantness of this place was gone, replaced only with the sense of loss and the echo of splashing sewage on concrete walls seared into my ears.

In truth, I felt as though I had lost a close friend. Someone who alerted me when friends came calling, someone who reminded me to wake up in the morning, go to a meeting, and would play Monopoly with me when I was bored. Worse than it all, I knew that while others would certainly sympathize with my loss, I hesitated in mentioning it at first, for my shame was too great.

For the rest of the day, I felt naked, exposed and powerless. On the drive home, I felt keenly the disconnect from the world outside my vehicle, trapped by my inability to reach beyond my immediate surroundings. This solitude was made only more evident by the chorus of snoring scouts in the van, their raucous and interrupted snorts barked in my ears like the chortles of laughter.

But please, don't cry for me, friends and loved ones. I tell this cautionary tale not to gain your sympathy, but as a warning. Learn from me and my folly. Do not let yourselves be blinded by seeming urgency over menial issues and risk overlooking vital protocols and procedures that can protect you from loss, injury and sorrow. Do not place such trust, indeed dependency, upon things of this world that are so easily lost. Do not enter phone numbers into your cell without writing them down elsewhere.

My road before me is set. I know that somewhere deep down inside me, I will find the determination to continue. And though I walk through the valley of sorrows today, I will come into the sunlight. Today, I join with Gloria Gaynor and say stridently:

At first I was afraid
I was petrified
Kept thinking I could never live
without you by my side
But then I spent so many nights
thinking how you did me wrong
And I grew strong
And I learned how to get along....

I will survive
Oh as long as i know how to love
I know I will stay alive
I've got all my life to live
I've got all my love to give
and I'll survive
I will survive. Hey hey!