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View each Elder's personal photo album!Here's my own Family Site


Welcome to my personal site for the missionaries who have served (or currently serving) in my area. I have tried to 'capture' them in natural moments throughout their service here. As can be seen by the number of pictures for each missionary, I try to capture them when I can.

Some of the missionaries serving in the other local areas have not been photographed as much as the Elders in my area, but I appreciate them just as much! Thank you (their family) for their committment and service!

We hope you enjoy these 'Missionary Moments'!

I do hope this brings some joy into your home (and hearts)!  Jason and I deeply thank the family and friends of each of 'our' Elders for the sacrifice that they are making on our behalf, allowing their sons/family serve in our area.


Thank You!!


(Author Unknown; part of a talk given to Medford 3rd Ward by Elder Bracewell)

(Update March 15, 2011:

Hi :)

I came across your website and noticed you posted the poem "He's Been There
Before". You listed the author as Unknown, and I just thought I'd let you
know who the author is. Troy Whittle, my boyfriend's uncle, wrote this poem.
Lots of people know of the poem, but not the author haha poor Troy. Thanks
for sharing it on your wonderful website, maybe you can pass the word on of
the author:)

Timera Lindsey

I've Been There Before

The alarm rings at 6:30, I stumble to my feet.
I grab my companions bedding and pull off his sheet.
A groan fills the room, is it already time to arise?
It seems like just a second ago I was able to shut my eyes.

The morning activities follow study, prayer and such,
When it’s time to leave the apartment, you feel you haven’t accomplished much.
“We have a super day planned,” my comp says with a grin.
I lowly utter a faithless breath, “Yeah, if anyone let’s us in.”

With the Word of God and my faithful Schwinn, we ride off in the street,
Prepared to face another day of humidity and heat.
It’s 9:30 in the evening, the day is almost through.
My companion and I riding home, not accomplishing what we thought to do.

We run up to the mailbox, hoping to receive a lot,
Only to look inside, and hear my echo reverberate, “air box.”
We go up to our apartment, the day is now complete.
The only thing to show for our work is a case of blistered feet.

It’s past 10:30 pm, my companion is fast asleep.
Silence engulfs yet all about, and I begin to weep.

In the midst of sadness I kneel down to pray,
I need to talk to Father, but I’m not sure what to say.

“Oh Father,” I begin, “what happened to us today?
I thought we’d teach somebody, but everyone was away.
My hands, my aching hands, worn, hurt and beat.
If our area was any smaller, we’d have knocked every street.”

“Why on missions are the days so much alike?
The only difference about today was the flat on my bike.
Will you send me some cooler weather? The heat is killin’ me.
I sweat so bad, it gets in my eyes, it’s very hard to see.”

“Why do I have to wear a helmet, isn’t your protection enough?
People always laugh at me and call me stupid stuff.
Please send us investigators so I may give them what they lack.
I want to give them Book of Mormons, the weight of them hurts my back.”

“And what about my family? They don’t have much to say.
I’m sick of not hearing from home, day, after day, after day.
Oh Father, why am I here? Am I just wasting time?
Sometimes I just want to go home, I’m sorry but that’s on my mind.”

“My companion, Heavenly Father, what are you giving me?
The way he rides his bike, I don’t think he can see.

Now, you have it, I can’t go on, I don’t know what to do.
That, my Father in Heaven, is the prayer I have for you.”

My prayer was finished. I stand up, then jump right into bed.
I need my rest for tomorrow, we have another long day ahead.
Sleep starts to overcome, me and I seem to drift away.
Taken, it seems in a vision, takes me to another time, another day.

I’m standing alone on the hill; the view is very nice.
A man walks towards me, and says, “My name is Jesus Christ.”
Tears of joy well up inside, I fall down to his feet.
“Arise,” he states, “Follow me to the shade, you and I need to speak.”

My attention towards my Savior, total and complete.
He says, “Your mission is similar of what happened to me.
I understand how you fell, I know what you’re going through.
In fact, it would be fair to say I’ve felt the same as you.”

“I even know how you felt when no one listened to you.
At times I felt not quite sure what else that I could do.
I knew you don’t like to ride a bike; for you, a car would be sweet.
Just remember the donkey I rode wasn’t equipped with 21-speeds.”

“I understand you don’t like sweating, in fact it’s something you hate.”
I remember I sweated blood from every pore, oh the agony was great.

I say you don’t like your companion, you’d rather have someone else.
I once had a companion named Judas, who sold my life for wealth.”

“It’s hard to wear a helmet and have people make fun of you.”
I remember when they put thorns on my head and called me, ‘King of Jews.’
So you feel burdened down by the weight of your pack.
I recall how heavy the cross was, when the slammed it on my back.”

“Your hands hurt from tracting and knocking on doors all day.
I guess when they pounded nails into mine, I ached in a similar way.
It’s hard not to hear from home, when your family’s not there to see.
I lost communication on the cross, and cried “Father, why hast thou forsaken me?”

We have a lot in common. But there’s a difference between us you see.
I endured my mission, so follow and do like me.”
He embraced me with his arms, his light filled me with his love.
With tears in my eyes I watched as he went back to the Father above.

I stood with awe and wonder, when a beep rang in my head.
I listened and heard the alarm, then realized, I was in bed.
My companion, let out a groan, “6:00 already, NO WAY!”
I sat up and said, “Come on, I’ll even carry your scriptures today.”

No matter what we go through, when we feel we can’t take any more,
Just stop and think about Jesus Christ, he’s been there before. . .