Those of us who are members of both the LDS Church (”the Mormons”) and the United States Military eventually figure out that we are, indeed, in two separate very small worlds, in which the twain shall not only meet like the circles in a Venn diagram, but shall do so repeatedly. This Sunday, I had no less than three of these “small world” experiences in the space of an hour during our first church meeting of the day.

Exhibit #1

Around 12:50, ten minutes before our services began, I noticed a new face in the small crowd. He was a Army Specialist with short cropped hair, a kind and friendly face, and the sort of ruddy complexion which made me bet silently to myself that that hair would be red when in full bloom. As soon as he found himself a seat and put his stuff down, this gentleman introduced himself as Brother Karl Kurtz of California, and asked if he could help prepare the sacrament. As he took his seat behind our makeshift sacrament table, I thought he looked vaguely familiar. However, since I have begun to suffer (unofficially, as yet) from early-onset Alzheimer’s Disease, I have learned to distrust these impressions. I have such impressions frequently, and have investigated some, only to find that the Person In Question simply had a physical trait or mannerism (i.e., a haircut, gait, or accent) which reminded me of someone else I had known. So I tossed this one out, and church proceeded on.

Next came a talk (Bro Neff), an interlude musical performance (the three members of the group leadership, Bros Diaz, Lloyd and I sang “O How Lovely Was The Morning”), and a testimony by Brother Phillips who will be redeploying after 15 months (!) in the Brown Zone. Finally, my lesson on Chapter 13 in the Priesthood/R.S. manual. During the lesson, I referenced and experience I had on my mission, though I did not mention where I served. After class, Brother Kurtz came up to me and asked if I served in the Texas San Antonio mission. Indeed, I had, and as he asked the question, I suddenly pictured a younger but no less smiley Elder Kurtz, who served in Austin, TX (among other places). I remember him at that time being a faithful, humble missionary, and he does not seem to have changed a bit in that respect. We talked about our mission president, the great Dale Huntsman, who was such an inspiration to so many of us, and I learned that his wife Karma had passed away many years ago, which saddened me. Brother Kurtz will be here for the rest of the year, and possibly a bit beyond. It was great to see him again, and I look forward to talking with him some more, and feeling of his tremendous spirit.

Exhibits #2 and 3

During the aforementioned lesson, I also referenced a very unique experience I had in/around 1984 when I was involved in an LDS Encampment of the Boy Scouts of America in upper New York state (Litchfield or Letchworth, something like that—google is not helping me much here, perhaps Mom Rupard will remember?). It was a huge gathering of Latter-day Saint scouts and we had a great time.

The story I told was of one of our adult leaders, a man named Frank (he had us call him that, so his last name escapes me), who was a Vietnam veteran. Around the campfire we would beg him for stories about his experiences, and he would tell us a bit here and there, probably scaling things down a little, but occasionally letting loose a PG-13-rated word, if you get my drift. He was a crusty guy, not used to being around a bunch of squeaky-cleans, and at one point he taught us (motivated us, really) to march very closely and well. We eventually used this new found skill to march our entire platoon into the Hill Cumorah Pageant, where our very crisp and in-step cadence garnered our unit, among the dozens there, the only standing ovation offered by the crowd before the show itself began. In my lesson, I told how this bearded, hardened veteran of a terrible war had gone with the rest of us into the Sacred Grove the following day, and broken down and wept as he gave his testimony of the marvelous events that had occurred in that place. That moment moved me greatly, and is one I will always remember.

After the lesson and at separate times, two Marines came up to me (Brother Callahan, Brother Martz) and told me that they had also attended that encampment, and we shared memories of the event. One of the nice things about the Church and the Military is that members of each have surrogate family wherever they can find another member. In both cases, it is our mutually-held values, our colliding spheres of activity, and in many cases our shared experiences which bind us together. I treasure the “small world” moments which this closeness affords.