The Bridge to Nowhere

By Xander Hacking

While travelling one day,

Journeying on my way,

I passed an intriguing scene:

The bridging of a ravine.

On this side, no space was found

For buildings filled the ground.

But the land across was empty,

All march filled and swampy.

I approached the smiling foreman,

As he surveyed his work.

“You’re building quite a wonder,

And not a man is found to shirk”

“But you see my friend,

And I’m sorry if I’m frank,

But your bridge it leads to nowhere.

The land across is blank.”

“I see you’ve caught the vision

Of what we aim to do”

He responded with gusto,

Creating much ado.

“Aye we’re building this bridge to nowhere.

We’re building pretty fast.

We’ve used our best resources.

We’re building this to last.”

“But sir all that is pointless,

 Even if it stands through flood and rain,

It brings about no progress.

Sir, your bridge is vain.”

“Perhaps I spoke too quickly,

When I said you understood.

But with some explanation,

I do hope that you would.”

“So many are going nowhere

Countless throngs of men.

How else could they get there?

For here their journey would end.”

“Why would any cross this bridge?!

There is nothing for them to see!

Why, no one even notices this bridge,

Except for you and me.”

We parted our separate ways,

Both thinking the other a fool.

Much time passed before

I returned that way with things to do.

Imagine the shock that sight did bring,

That bridge filled with crowds.

All of them rushing, pushing, shoving,

To Cross,

            The Bridge,

                        To Nowhere.

Remember 9/11

In memory of the 2,977.

Ten Years Ago, we all woke up to a world radically different from what we were accustomed to. Children woke up, knowing that Daddy, or Mommy, would never walk through the front door again. Men and women looked at pictures of family, of friends, of colleagues, of brothers, sisters, mothers, and fathers, and through blurred eyes saw only memories, never to be made again.

American soldiers stationed around the world wondered where the next attack would come. Noble men and women in uniform who were willing to risk, and even sacrifice, their lives to protect America, Her people, and Her way of life, stood horrified and angry. Somehow, the enemy had gotten past them, and brought the battle and the blood to the peaceful streets of home.

The American sense of invincibility and isolation from the world’s violence was gone. For the first time in almost two hundred years, an act of violence on the level of an act of war was carried out against the Continental United States. Our planes, our safest and fastest form of transportation had been used as weapons of mass destruction against our people, our economy, and out military.

Our people were slaughtered, regardless of race, creed, or color. Muslims (in the towers, not the terrorists) Christians, Jews, and those who believe in no god at all, were burnt shattered and crushed.

So on the morning of September 12^th, 2001, The day after the most horrific act of terror committed in modern history, America woke up. We had a lot of uncertainties, but there was one thing certain, United, in the collective minds of Americans. We’d been hurt, but we would NEVER, NEVER, be defeated. On September 12^th, we were not Republicans and Democrats, we were not African-Americans, or Asian-Americans, or even European-Americans, we were just Americans. Regardless of race, gender, religion, political affiliation, or any other dividing factor, we were Brothers and Sisters, we were Americans.

As we look back over these past ten years, a lot has changed. There isn’t an overwhelming feeling of unity in the United States. We’ve become divided and divisive again. But we have the right to be so. Our Nation, our Constitution, our Freedoms guarantee us those rights.  Even so, United We Stand, Divided We Fall.

"We must all hang together, or assuredly we shall all hang separately” –Benjamin Franklin

Remember the unity we felt as a nation on September 12th, 2001, and feel that unity again. Reach out to your neighbor; greet a stranger with a smile; visit an old friend; tear down a wall; build again a burnt bridge. We are all Americans, and we all bear the same wound.

Through blurred eyes we find the strength and courage to soar beyond the moment.
We look to the future knowing we can never forget the past.
God Bless America

Greenwood Cemetery
York, Nebraska 

No words, from tongue or pen, can describe the sorrow, the pain, or the loss. They cannot give adequate tribute to the innocent dead in the Towers and the Pentagon, or give sufficient eulogy to the noble men and women of Flight United 93.

The best we can do is Remember.

Remember the Fallen:

In the North Tower and on American Airlines Flight 11; 8:46 a.m. & 10:28 a.m.

In the South Tower and on United Airlines Flight 175; 9:03 a.m. & 9:59 a.m.

In the Pentagon and on American Airlines Flight 77; 9:37 a.m.

On United Airlines Flight 93; 10:03 a.m.

Remember the Soldiers who have died in defense of our Freedoms, whether or not you believe their war was just.

Remember the Heroes:

The Firefighters and the Police Officers.

Men like Pablo Ortiz and Frank DeMartini, men who went up to make sure others could go down.

Men like Orio Palmer and Ronald Bucca, firefighters who raced the 78^th floor of the South Tower without any regard for personal safety.

Remember the sons and daughters, almost too young to remember, who now grow up without a mother or a father.

Remember the Fallen. Remember the Survivors.

Remember 9/11- Never Forget.

 

God Bless America.

Rescue the One

From the mouthpiece of God

Comes the prophetic call.

Be we weak, be we strong,

It comes to us all.

To Rescue the One,

One by one.

There are those who have wandered

From the light that they knew,

Now they wait in the dark

To be rescued by you.

So Rescue the One,

One by one.

All around us are Souls

Who are kept from the Truth.

They’ve been pulled from the Light

And they need Rescue too.

Let us Rescue the One,

One by one.

Our Brothers! Our Sisters!

Cry out in the night!

It’s up to you and to me

To bring them into the Light.

We must Rescue the One,

One by one.

With the Lord as our Captain

We will strive all our lives

To seek out the weary

And bring hope to their eyes.

So we’ll always Rescue the One,

One by one.

The Last Journey

By Xander Hacking

I’ve landed at the final shore.

I’ve climbed the final mountain.

I’ve crossed the final shore.

Just a few more steps to go.

I’ve been through tempests,

Where I thought I’d surely drown.

Sat in fear as the storms grew worse.

Then he said, “Fear not, the storm will pass us by.”

I’ve been thrown against the rocks,

Slammed into stone cliffs as I climbed,

Slipped and fallen on the path.

He’d lift me when I fell, and said “Let’s go, almost there.”

I’ve stared in despair at the river,

As the wide weak bridges fell with countless on them.

Leaving one, narrow, and made of rope.

“Come” he said, “Follow me” as he took the first step.

Now I stand in the snow before the door.

I look back at all I’ve been through,

The pond, the hill, the stream.

And I wonder, have I the right to enter?

Then the door opens,

A wave of light and warmth washes over me.

My Lord, Savior, and Brother fills the doorway.

“Come, enter in” he says, face beaming with love, “You’ve a place here.”

Forgotten Skies, Chapter 1.2

            Loud, angry yells from the hallway, though muffled by the closed door, still rudely wakened James Brennan. He only required seconds to recognize that he was in unfamiliar surroundings. He jumped out of his bed and silently approached the door, which resembled a watertight door from a ship, but much thinner, and taller, with a pointed top as opposed to rounded. When he’d gone to sleep the night before he hadn’t been wearing his Army Combat Uniform, but he was now, in addition to a Colt M9 handgun on his waist. He pulled the sidearm out, and released the safety as he leaned his head towards the port-hole style door to his room.

            In the hall two men were yelling and throwing punches at each other. One was about a foot taller than the man he was beating on, and seemed far more worked up. James decided he’d better break things up before they got any more violent.

            Holstering his sidearm, but keeping his hand on it, he pulled the door open and charged into the hallway.

            “HEY! Break it up!” he bellowed.

            The two fighters didn’t seem to hear him as the taller one slammed his opponent into the wall, lifting him off his feet.

            “Break it up!” James ordered again, this time shoving both men, hard, away from one another.

            The two men seemed stunned for a moment with the addition of another person, but the big man reacted quickly and charged towards James, head lowered like he was attempting a football tackle. James ducked around the tackle, a hard feat in the relatively narrow hallway, and then kicked his assailant, throwing him off balance. The man fell to the ground, as James pulled his side arm out again.

            “Don’t move!” He ordered, and then glanced back at the other man. He had collapsed to the floor, and was holding his hand to his bleeding nose.”

            “Of course!” The bigger man yelled, “Of course the military is behind this! Where am I?!”

            “Actually, I’m just as lost as you are. I just woke up, and I’ve got no idea where we are.

            “What?! Great, another useless idiot.”

“Why did you attack him?” James asked, gesturing to the smaller man.

            The man shrugged before responding, calming down, “I figured he knew where we were. When he didn’t tell me, I decided to beat it out of him.”

            “Right.” James turned to the crumpled man on the ground “Do you know where we are?”

            “No!” he barked back.

            Returning to the big man, who was now noticeably calmer, James asked “What’s your name?”

            “Zach, Zach Walker. I’m a quarterback at my community college.” He stuck his hand out, now noticeably calmer than before. James holstered his sidearm, locked the clasp and shook the Zach’s hand.

            “How about you?” James asked the other man.

            “Ed Drake.” He seethed, a mix of despair and frustration in his eyes.

            “And I’m James Brennan. Now that we all know each other, how about we figure out where we are?”

            “Forget it. I’m going back to my bed, this is all just some dumb trip.” Ed mumbled, climbing to his unsteady feet and stumbling into one of the other bedrooms in the hallway.

            “How about you Zach?”

            “Sure, I’ve got a party to get to tonight, let’s get out of here.”

            “Follow me then.”

            James un-holstered his handgun once again, and pointed it at the ground. The hallway towards where Ed had gone ended in a solid wall some twenty feet distant, so they headed the other way. A few exposed pipes ran along the edges of the ceiling. James noticed that the carpet beneath their feet was heavily worn, and steel plating was visible in several spots. It appeared that the wall had been painted at one point, but that had worn off long ago.

            A set of steep stairs, almost to the point of being a ladder, appeared to their left. James held up his hand to signal Zach to stop, but he didn’t get the message and bumped into James.

            “Hey!” James whispered intensely, “This,” he put his hand up again, “means stop!”

            “Well so-rry!”

            “Keep it quiet.” I’m going up these steps for a minute, watch the hallway.”

            James slowly climbed the ladder stairs and lifted his head barely above the floor of the next level up. He had to climb up onto the floor and poke his head out into the corridor, in order to see anything besides the alcove where the ladder came up. There was another ladder behind him, ascending to the next level.

            Poking his head down the hallway, he didn’t see anything of interest, just more doors. The lighting wasn’t very good with dull lights spaced every twenty feet or so. From what he could see, this level looked better kept, though there wasn’t any carpet, and the walls were a dull metallic gray.

            He stepped into the hallway to get a better look, but jumped back when more lights along the corridor lit up. He waited a moment but heard nothing and took another look down the corridor. Nothing was moving. Perhaps the lights were on motion sensors.

            Deciding that he and Zach would come back up after they cleared the first floor, he went back down the ladder.

            “What did you see?” Zach asked, again a little too loud for James’ desire to remain stealthy.

            “Just another corridor. Let’s clear this level first.”

            “Shouldn’t we go up?” Zach protested, maybe we’re underground.”

            “We don’t know that. Let’s see if we can find a window or a level marker first.”

            A few feet beyond the stairs they found another door in the side of the corridor. Zach looked in the window first.

            “Hey! It’s some of my buddies!” Zach yelled as he turned the wheel on the door and lifted the latch.

            “Hold it.” James said, but it was already too late. Zach was inside.

            There were four sets of bunks in the room, arranged around the walls with an open area in the center of the room, but only two of the beds were occupied. The two sleeping men were both soon awake with Zach’s violent shaking.

            “Jake! Tyler! Get up!”

            The men were understandably disoriented, but Zach quickly explained everything they knew thus far, and within a minute or so, they were ready to move. Zach introduced Jake and Tyler as two of the biggest linemen from Zach’s football team. They were big men.

            Now there were four, and James quickly figured out that the two new guys were as incapable of stealth as their quarterback.

            The corridor ended with another one of the ship-style doors. Looking through, James only saw another corridor, with a similar door at the end. They opened the door and proceeded through. Again there were bedrooms lining the hallway, though these rooms were considerably nicer. Each had its own queen sized bed, along with other furniture. Some had occupants, others did not. They didn’t awaken anyone else, and quickly moved through to the end of the corridor. Again James checked through the porthole before opening the door. At first he saw nothing, only black. As his eyes adjusted though, he saw distant, small points of light.

            “Looks like you were wrong about our being underground Zach. I see stars.”

            James opened the door, and the four men moved insider. James was more cautious, and looked around to get a better picture of the room, while the three football players bolted straight for the window.

            “Hey James,” Zach said, sounding in shock, “Come take a look.”

            James moved over, and his jaw dropped. Of all they places he’d been considering, it hadn’t occurred to him that they would be in space.

            “I didn’t get an A in geography,” Zach began, “But none of that land looks like earth.”

            James came to the same conclusion. None of the continents on the planet below looked anything like the continents of earth.

            Just then, James noticed movement out of the corner of his eyes. Turning towards his left, he saw a woman, also staring out the window in apparent shock because she seemed to not notice the four men who had joined her in the room.  

THE OTHER SIDE

How many times have you heard the phrase “The grass is always greener on the other side?” The intended meaning is that although some thing or some situation seems better from the outside than what you have now, it actually isn’t. This is literally true in the case of grass. Often the grass on the other side of the fence looks greener because you are looking at it from an angle, and see only the green blades of grass. When you look directly down at grass, you see the brown dirt between the blades. In some cases of homeowner vanity this can lead to expensive and costly “lawn-care-wars.” (You want to know the real reason Hitler invaded Poland? It wasn’t polish dogs…)

But is this always true? That things look better than they actually are? Of course not! All generalizations are false! (including this one >:)  )  Another question: is it bad to want to be on The Other Side? Well… yes and no, it depends on the side really, and your motivation. Where is the line between coveting and lust, and righteous motivation and drive?

The teenager in the stands at a high school football game who wishes he was on The Other Side of the game, playing not watching. The moviegoer who wishes she was on The Other Side of Hollywood’s silver screen. The drug addict who wishes he was on The Other Side of controlling his life. The loyal soldier, who despite fulfilling his duty in the battlefield, still wishes he was on The Other Side of the ocean.

Is it bad to want to be on The Other Side of an executive’s desk and paycheck? Well… yes and no, it depends on why you want to be there. Do you want money and power? Or do you want the opportunity to make a difference and provide for your family and others? Or are you in the bothersome mental quandary where your choice would be “C all of the above?”

In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m not actually going to give any resolution to these dilemmas. You honestly expect a quick-fix solution to your decision making problems in such a short essay? No,  I’d need another 50 pages, several weeks, and a generous supply of sugar to give you that. Plus, it really depends on the situation, the people involved, what they want, and why they want it. Most importantly, it depends on Heavenly Father’s will.

So sit back for a few minutes. What do you want to be on The Other Side of? What Other Sides have become your goals, intentionally or otherwise?

I’ll share a few of my own. I recently went in for a job interview. One day, I’ll be on The Other Side of one of those. Often when I watch a play, I wish I was on The Other Side of the production, knowing how fun it is to be cast rather than audience; to entertain than be entertained. I often wish to be on The Other Side of the uniform, a citizen-soldier. I can’t wait to be on The Other Side of a college degree, but then I’ll be on this side of those interviews again, dang it.

What are your Other Sides? How are you going to get there? And should you even go?

Beginnings and Endings

            I still remember when I first arrived in Jakarta, at 1:30 in the afternoon on Wednesday October 22, 2008. It was a definite culture shock. I felt like I was swimming in a mixture of the liquid air and my own sweat. I was definitely a little homesick as my MTC companion, Elder Myers, and I walked out of the airport, only to be greeted not by the Mission President, but by the office Elders: Elder Erikson, Elder Simmons, and Elder Woodland. President Marchant was away on a mission tour with a member of the Area Presidency.

            Things were so different and strange from what I was accustomed too; even the cars drove on the wrong side of the road! I distinctly remember riding down the crowded road from the Soekarno-Hatta airport into Jakarta proper, looking out the window at the workmen, their clothes matching the mud and dirt they worked in, building a causeway several feet higher than the road we were on. One of the missionaries explained it was because of flooding.

            After brother Bono, the driver, navigated us through the motorcycle-filled roads of Jakarta we arrived at the Mission Home. A momentary rest and then we rode a Bajai (motorcycle rickshaw) to Blok M to look for proselyting bags. Blok M is also one of the largest bus terminals in southern Jakarta. Hundreds of buses (Not a single one of which could pass an emissions inspection) picking up thousands of people and roaring off into the urban jungle of Jakarta for dozens of different destinations. It was sheer ordered chaos.

            There are several malls at Blok M. A high class mall, Plaza Indonesia, reserved for the wealthier classes of Jakarta, another mall, Blok M Square, filled with stalls that could be rented as shops by vendors and anchored by a Carrefour, one of Indonesia’s major superstore chains, and another flea-market style mall, Mal Blok M, built underneath and into the bus terminal. It was this third mall we went too. As we descended the steps, the low-tech PA system of the mall was playing a song by Secondhand Serenade. This didn’t help the homesickness at all because my sister and I went to a Secondhand Serenade concert right before I left. I remember my own confusion at the mass of people, all speaking a language I thought I understood. We wandered through not finding anything and then moved on to Plaza Indonesia. Eventually we were able to find bags for Elder Myers and I. I handed over one of the bills that I didn’t understand and walked out with what would become my constant companion for the coming months, a small side bag for carrying books.

            We rode one of those crazy busses, filled with people well beyond any and all safety limits, from the terminal back to the mission home, stopping on the way to purchase some food from a small shack on the side of the road, a “warung,” called “Bumi Ayu.” The office Elders called it “BYU” as an inside joke. Our food looked like something that had already been eaten, rather than for eating, and was packaged in a sheet of thick brown paper. We took it back to the mission home and dug in. I didn’t eat much, I wasn’t all that hungry, and even if I was, I probably wouldn’t have eaten the  pile of … so-called food in front of me. I went to sleep exhausted, mentally, physically, and emotionally that night. Could I be any farther from home?

-           -           -

            I still remember a month before I returned to the U.S. when President Groberg walked into the mission office, where I was serving, and said “Meet the new Elders.” Elder Taggart and Elder Quinn then walked into the office, looking as green and shell shocked as I must have. After they had a little time to take a shower and change from long sleeve to short sleeve shirts, My companion, Elder Silalahi, and I took them out to exchange their American currency for Indonesian cash. I remember watching the exchanger count the bills for us, each pink, purple, blue, or tan bill more familiar to me than their American counterpart.

            We walked for a bit, and bought some “Gorengan,” Indonesian snacks consisting of bananas, tofu, soybeans, and other things deep fried. I loved the stuff, ate it daily. Then we boarded a Kopaja, one of the short busses that fill and flow through the streets of Jakarta like water in the crevices of a massive, cracked boulder, and roared through the lighter early evening traffic to Blok M. The busses in Jakarta rarely stopped, they just slowed down and then you jumped.  

            I remember guiding them artfully through the stalls and chaos of the underground Blok M mall, straight to the bag store where I’d gone on my first day in Jakarta so long before. Though I’d purchased my bag at a store in Plaza Indonesia, we were still able to find some good bags for the Elders. We took them to a floor in Plaza Indonesia where they had thousands of Indonesian traditional crafts, and traditional clothing and fabric, just to give them a taste of what to look out of during their next two years in the country.

            I remember haggling with the Bajai driver, in fluent Indonesian, to give us a ride back to the Mission Home. You could only fit two or three passengers in one of those, so my companion and I split up in two of them, each of us taking one of the new Elders. It was kind of a race. I smile when I remember that I got back first.

            We had dinner with the mission president that night, but the next day my companion and I introduced Elder Taggart to Indonesian cuisine, thought I don’t remember if we got him a “warung” lunch at BYU or Nasi Goreng (Fried Rice). I usually had BYU for lunch, and then Nasi Goreng for dinner. After that the three of us boarded the Busway, Jakarta’s mass transport system, to take Elder Taggart to North Jakarta, his first area. I’d spent eight months of my mission in Jakarta; I’d come to see it as MY city, and I knew how to navigate Busway better than any other American in the mission. North Jakarta had been my first area, and taking Elder Taggart there was a nostalgic trip to a part of my past filled with both good and bad memories.

            I remember a few weeks later, when I waved good bye to the Mission Home, a place that had become Home to me. Elder Myers and I waved good bye to President and Sister Groberg, to the Senior Couple, and to our companions as we climbed into the SUV, driven by Ari, the Mission President’s driver. I still remember looking out the windows as we drove through the streets of Jakarta. I saw the malls and streets where I’d proselyted. We drove past Busway. I can still remember the recorded bilingual announcement before each stop, and how funny the English translation was. It was early morning, so the streets were mostly empty. We sped along the causeway, now completed, to the airport.

            I still remember watching the towering skyscrapers of MY city, what had become my home, disappear; and after two years of looking forward to returning to the US, I found myself homesick for Jakarta.