Jump the Wake

A few summers back, I learned to wakeboard. Wakeboarding has since become one of my favorite things to do in the summer. I love it. I'm far from great, but I've improved a lot since I first learned. As I got a little bit better, I started to jump. I'd steer out away from the boat's wake, then turn and head back toward it. When I came to the "ramp" that the water made, I'd jump and catch a little air. Nothing special. I eventually got to the point where I wanted to jump across the entire wake and land on the other side. That became a goal of mine.

So I'd try and I'd try. I'd lean out as far as I could from the wake, then quickly change direction and head back toward it. When I got to the edge I'd jump as high as I could, only to crash, or, if I was lucky, land the jump but come up short of clearing the whole thing. I remember trying this for two summers, never successfully reaching my goal.

One summer day, not too long before I left Utah to serve my mission, I was out on the lake with my family on my uncle's boat. I was pretty determined that it was going to happen that day. I was going to jump the wake.

The water was smooth enough. I didn't have any excuses there. I was using a great board and boat, and my uncle was driving like a pro. There was no reason I shouldn't be able to jump the wake. So I started to go for it. I'd go out, then come in, jump in the air, and land inside the wake. I repeated the process, always with the same result. I was coming up short of my goal. I tried and tried, and eventually got to the point where I was so close, yet unsuccessful.

Then my cousin Trevor gave me the advice I needed. He told me that I was holding back, just a little. It wasn't much, but every time I'd shoot in toward the wake, I'd hesitate ever so slightly as I took off. He told me I just had to go for it, and to quit holding back. He was exactly right.

So out I went. I leaned as far away from the wake as I could muster. Then, I leaned the other direction, and sped toward the wake as fast and hard as I could possibly go. I went all out. I didn't care if I lived or died (a little dramatic, but that was my mindset ;) ). When I came up over the wake's edge I launched myself as far as I could. When I landed, I felt smooth water underneath my board, rather than the rough, disturbed water that I was used to feeling when I landed inside the wake. I'd done it. The wake had been successfully cleared.

I couldn't believe it. That ounce of fear was the difference between success and failure. That tiny hesitation, that was more mental than physical, was my roadblock. It was so slight that I had even convinced myself that it wasn't there. But it was there, and that was the difference. The difference between giving 99.9% and 100% was the difference between failure and success.

I've applied this story to my work as a missionary. I live day in and day out with the expectation that I give everything I have to my work, and that is my desire. I strive to keep the commandments and the mission rules with exactness. I strive to talk to every person I can, and to give them an opportunity to hear the good news of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I attempt to channel not only my actions, but my words and thoughts toward furthering the Lord's work. In short, I'm trying to give 100%, withholding nothing.

A man named Amaleki, a descendant of Lehi, gave these words of exhortation, recorded in the Book of Mormon:

"And now, my beloved brethren, I would that ye should come unto Christ, who is the Holy One of Israel, and partake of his salvation, and the power of his redemption. Yea, come unto him, and offer your whole souls as an offering unto him, and continue in fasting and praying, and endure to the end; and as the Lord liveth ye will be saved" (Omni 1:26).

The Lord doesn't expect us to be 100% perfect, but he does expect us to give 100% of our efforts. This was taught by Nephi, a prophet in the Book of Mormon. He said "it is by grace that we are saved, after all we can do" (2 Nephi 25:23). But I often confuse doing my best with being perfect. Remember, they aren't the same thing. Perfection is impossible at this point. So don't get discouraged when you aren't perfect. But never stop trying.

A good friend of mine that I met here on my mission taught me this: There are two types of pain. The first is the pain of sacrifice. It's the pain that comes from going the extra mile, going out of our way, and doing things even when we don't want to do them. As a missionary, it's the pain that comes from riding my bike up a big hill even when I'm pretty sure the person we're going to visit won't be home. It's going out to talk to people, even when it's freezing cold. That's the first type of pain. The second type is the pain of regret. That's the pain of guilt that comes when we know we didn't do as much as we were capable of. It's when we could have done better, but we chose not to. As a missionary it's when I let somebody pass by me on the street, instead of stopping them to share the gospel. It's when I take a few extra minutes of lunch time instead of getting out to work right on time. These are the two types of pain. The difference is, the pain of sacrifice weighs in ounces. while the pain of regret weighs in tons. You will always be glad you chose the pain of sacrifice over the pain of regret. Always. There are no exceptions.

My invitation to you is to be your absolute best. Give 100%, not 99.9%. Have No Regrets.

 

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