Isn't it about.....Time.

      The war goes well on the Idaho front; the previously mentioned battles in the last entry were fought and subdued. The blitz worked.  At the end of the battle, I had a moment to pause, thank heaven that I had succeeded, and realize that it couldn't get much harder than this.
      The Lord has blessed me with a friendly personality.  As a result I enjoy making a lot of friends up here, from talking to the person in front of me in line to meeting someone in the laundry room.  I have a few good friends/fellow soldiers in my harder classes with whom I study quite often.  I have learned to truly care for and love them.  It's been said that nothing makes brothers faster than blood and sweat.
       I watch my friends day to day, hear them talk about their lives and their worries.  There appears to be a reoccurring theme amongst them; a crisis of time management.  I hear their accounts of staying up way past midnight to finish a project or get a paper turned in on time.  I see them fall asleep in classes and yawning incessantly through the day.  My heart breaks for them.  Watching your comrades in arms succumb to the attrition of time is hard.
       I am doubly sorry for them, because upon some introspection, I realize that I do not share their problem; through either divine mercy on my behalf or luck of the draw, I never have to compromise my sleep nor (too much) of my free time in order to keep my head above water.  I go to bed at ten thirty and get up at seven.  I study in the Manwaring center or in the library.  I have never pulled an all-nighter in order to finish anatomy homework.  Am I grateful?  Without question.
     I wish I had some profound insight to provide regarding the expenditure and investment of time, especially in the context of college, but I none to give, save a thought or two earned by experience.  If they apply to you, then by all means use them;
         Never let a problem to be solved be more important than a person to be loved (a direct quote from President Monson).
         Even if it's late and things aren't all the way done, just go to bed.  To quote Jurassic Park "life finds a way".
         The two best tutors in life are hard work and discipline. 
         Find joy every day.
        When in doubt, just make out (Colby will like that one).
  Perhaps cliche, but if so, then they are cliche because their right.  Feel free to add your own bits of wisdom.  (And I'm kidding about the last one there- it's kind of the apartment motto right now that nobody acts upon).

Anat/phys and Microbio join forces...

       This Wednesday and Thursday will witness the first casualties of this little war of mine; both anat/phys and microbio have tests during those days.  I see that the enemy has been corresponding, and have agreed to launch their first waves of assault simultaneously, hoping to spread my defenses thin.  They don't know about my secret weapon, one that has saved me in times past.  I requires little more than a switch to turn on and runs of off pure grit; I call it "the 10:30 library blitz". 
      The 10:30 library blitz is a strategy adopted by the most elite academic infantry; it's pretty simple, just pack up your gear and some granola bars, and hit the library from about 6:00 to 10:30 in the evening.  Four and a half hours more of study.  That's some serious firepower. 
      Needless to say, I fully intend to implement this strategy this week.  Some solders think I'm crazy.  To them I say "alright, lets talk after the test..."

       Ever since I was fifteen I have loved to play that guitar; I've been in bands, orchestras, blue grass ensembles and mariachi groups.  I took lessons from a professional for a year while teaching at a local music store.  Through it all I have discovered my favorite styles and techniques of playing, which include finger-style instrumental and jamming away at lead guitar. 
     I have also discovered that I don't write songs very well.  There is a big difference between writing a song and playing one.  Some professional song writers only play the piano, if they play an instrument at all!  They are two different talents.  Successful bands often include a healthy and unique mix of the two talents.
       Longs story short, I haven't written a song for over two years, consigning myself to learning the hymns and other instrumental arrangements.  However, about two weeks ago I got the idea of writing a song.  I brushed it off, thinking 'my songs are so cheesy and shmarmy, I don't want to put people through that'.  A few days later the feeling came back.  I jotted down a few lines of struggling poetry about how special this place (BYU-I) is to me.  Coming up with a melody to a completely original song can sometimes require a lot of experimentation, always done while completely alone so no one can hear you.  At length I had the idea of what I wanted the song to be.
       The day after my rough draft was completed, I get a call from a friend; 'we are looking for people to try out for our next acoustic show, and I was wondering if you would like to audition'.  The way it came across left me with no doubt that this is what the song had been written for.  I accepted the invitation, and worked frantically that night to refine and polish my few lines of poetry.  The idea came that the lyrics applied to how I feel about my mission just as much as they did to how I feel about Rexburg.  The topic switched to how I felt leaving the mission and what I left behind.  One line includes;
    "but heaven knows what I left behind, all the faith that I possessed, and the joy of saving life and feeling saved".
        I auditioned and was accepted into the show.  I was touched by the whole process.  I thought "why would I get promptings concerning such a silly and small thing like writing a song for a little acoustic gig?"  It strengthened my testimony that Father is concerned with the details of our lives, even the ones that serve strictly emotional purposes. 
        For whoever wants to come, next Saturday is the show, there will be posters up on campus.  If you come I hope you enjoy it.

To Andy

          I recently responded to an email from my younger brother Andy, who is serving in Tampico Mexico.  He asked me "what can I do to help investigators get to church?"  I thought a little and prayed about what I might say.  The following is the letter I wrote to him.  I thought it a kind of epistle really.  I love my brother so much, and wanted to help him with his problem. 

      Hey man, sorry to hear about you investigator issue.  My only suggestions would be committing them very firmly to come, promise them blessings and teach them the truth that "si ama a Dios, iria a la iglesia.  Si realmente quiere ir a los cielos un dia para vivir con su familia para siempre, van a venir a la iglesia".  Make them feel like barro (mud) if they don't come.  You are just teaching them the truth, that if they really love God, they would go. 
     Our assistants gave us this training saying that if someone is sick, you would do better to treat the SOURCE of the illness and not just the symptoms.  The same is true for us spiritually.  If someone isn't going to church, isn't willing to pay tithing, isn't willing to progress beyond a certain point, then some part of their spirit is sick,  we need to treat the source of their spiritual illness.  This includes committing them firmly to read the Book of Mormon, I mean, to really read it.  Tell them that if they read it and feel nothing, they missed it.  Commit them to pray, to really ask Father what they should do.  I liked to use the word "rogar" (to beg or plead) when describing how earnestly we should ask for blessings.  Focus on treating the source of their spiritual retardation. 
         Even after you have used all your ammo on your investigators that you love so much, they still may not choose to come.  That's the simple truth of it.  I can relate to your hurt, disappointed and sad feelings, I have felt them before.
       When investigators really feel the Holy Ghost, stumbling blocks crumble away and they are filled with a desire to progress.  That is the theory anyway, but making it happen is the art of the dedicated and powerful missionary. 
      I love you bro, I pray for you every night.  I try to imagine what Mexico must be like, what the streets look like that you walk on every day, what the chapels look like.  I imagine you and me dressed up in white shirts and ties, contacting anything that moves and sharing a day together in the Lord's service.  If anything else Andy, when you feel down, my heart is with you.  Know that your older brother loves and supports you utterly and completely.  God bless you.
    -love, your brother,
         Spencer-

Start your engines!

      Like Timone, I want to put my hands in the air and say "it starts".  The war has begun, man v.s school.  It's kind of exciting actually, putting on war paint, wearing a loin cloth and doing all those cool fighting moves I've seen in action movies.  My kind of war.
       In my long-term plans for this war of getting educated, I had an epiphany; medical school.  I see no reason why not, and (almost sheepishly) liked the idea of earning a respectable salary.  A champion decision indeed.
        A few weeks ago in our stake conference, we were invited to pick a friend of ours, and to pray for them every night in hopes that they will find the gospel and accept it.  I chose my old guitar teacher, a short middle-aged southern man with a smokers cough, a mutilated left hand and a short fuse.  The guitar obeys him. His lessons were brutal, but that somehow made me love the man.  He's always stuck out in my memory as someone that I wanted to remember.  There is a lot more to the story, but basically, he needs the church.
      I have kept that commitment to pray for him nightly.  I really loved the guy.  Now, I feel like it's time to do something.  I need to find him and somehow, I have no idea where is lives now days, and I have no idea what to say.  Perhaps just start talking.  Golly heaven knows that I want him to feel something, I just hope that gets through.  And if not, then I did my best.  I'd be fine with that.
         All this sounds like a great adventure, right!  Medical school, an academic war, cyber-proselyting, now all we need is a villain and a western-style shoot out!   I can't wait to wake up tomorrow and give it all I got.

Getting started

         So here we go; thanks for taking the time to check this blog thing out, I'm still getting used to this whole thing.  The inspiration for this comes from various friends and family members who have blogs that I follow occasionally, which proves to be a convenient way of staying informed as to how they are doing, what they are experiencing, whatever.  Though I may have frequent contact with them person to person, reading what they write never fails to provide insights that I did no glean in person.  Hopefully I can return the service to you through this blog.
           The title says "the life of the champion".  I'm not asserting that that is what I have, but rather what I am trying to achieve.  I also try to celebrate my Spanish-speaking abilities, probably more than is welcome.  It's just a funny phrase to toss around with a heavy, gruff Spanish accent.  The title seemed adequate. 
      I suppose that, like my sister's blog, it should have some kind of theme, purpose and direction, without the "public vent session" result.  Nobody wants to read that.  Instead, in the fight to be a champion of life, I'll mention here (in an entertaining and worthwhile manner)  the epic and desperate battles against challenges, trials, inner demons and Bio265.  Perhaps you could view it like an adventure that you are taking one step behind me. The champion of life also has what's most important first in his life, which I believe to be missionary work; simply said, there is nothing else like it, and should be participated in every day.
       I hope you enjoy it and find it worth your five minutes every once in a while to read.  I am sure that all who find their way here are close enough to me to warrant an "I love you", which I really do mean.  And if not, then I just love you anyway.