Class was about to begin, and I settled into a seat by the window. The clear azure sky bathed the room in gentle sunlight, filtering through the spotless window. Brother Adamson entered the room; his warm greeting filled the air. “Good afternoon,” he said, stepping briskly to the front of the room, “It is great to see your shining faces here at our first Elder’s Quorum class of the year. Today, we will be playing a game that involves each of you to have a balloon.” As Brother Adamson gave the instructions to the class, my attention slowly drifted away towards the window. I looked out. The still parking lot was at rest from the constant traffic of last week. The stalls were sparsely filled with cars, while others were barren and laid in wait for the rush of the week’s chaos.
Without warning, a delightful idea passed through my mind, “What if I invited my friends over for Sunday dinner tonight?” The thought made the edges of my mouth curl up, and I couldn’t help but respond to it. “I would love to spend time with my friends tonight, especially one in particular.” A bright warm smile was glued to my face, and my heart floated in the air. I pulled out my phone and typed out my message to Renee. “Tonight, would you and your roommates want to come over to my house for dinner?” As I clicked the royal blue send button, my heart skipped a beat. “I hope she says yes,” I thought, as my mind thought about all the outcomes. “What if she says no? Is that the end of my blissful thought?” Fighting the anxious thoughts, I brought myself back into the warm presence of Brother Adamson’s instructions.
“Each of you take your balloon and blow it up. Once you have finished, pinch the end of it, and come stand behind the red line.” I eagerly reached for my fresh green balloon and put it to my lips. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. My balloon swelled with the warmth of my breath, gradually expanding to its full size. Brother Adamson went on, “Each of you will let go of your balloon and try to hit the target here on the wall.”
Everyone piled behind the red line, and the first person got ready to hit the clearly marked out blue target on the coarse pale wall. With his shiny blue balloon’s tail firmly held, he pushed it forward and released. The thick, warm, humid air came flying, and created a loud noise that filled the room’s silence. The balloon had taken flight. It soared through the air, and briskly nosedived into the patterned carpet on the floor. Quickly the noise dissipated, and silence filled the space of the room.
The next person stepped up to the line. He grabbed his white blown up balloon and pointed it towards the same pale wall. In the same fashion as before, he threw his balloon. With its noise filling the room, it pounded on the floor and quickly dispersed the noise like before.
The luminous target lurked in the distance, as the others in the room formulated their tests. The game pressed on, and an eager procession of participants stepped forward to test their theories against the blue square target on the rugged, pale wall. Fail. Fail. Fail. The air grew thick with a mixture of determination and frustration, like a storm gathering on the horizon. “Why can’t anyone hit this target,” I exclaimed in my mind. Tension was building, and I wanted to hit the target. With each throw, I scrutinized the balloon’s release with unwavering intensity. The pressure between my fingers and the balloon’s tail, the precise point of release, and the deft flick of my wrist became the fixation of my meticulous examination. It had to be perfect. I practiced my errorless arm motion, while I waited for my frightful time to test my thought-out theory.
At last, it came time for my turn. I stood resolutely, planting my foot firmly beside the red-taped line. My green balloon rested in my right hand, and I took careful aim at the elusive target. In one fluid motion, I threw the balloon at the target and flicked my wrist. My eyes were besotted with the point of release. The feeling of the rubber slowly being released from my hand, until the balloon was out of my control. The rumble of the air came shooting out. The sound erupted in front of my face. With each passing second, the balloon plowed its way towards the rugged target on the wall. As everyone watched in awe, suspense crept into the room. In one motion, the balloon took a wrong turn. The nose of the balloon steered towards the ground, until it finally rested upon the floor. It was a failure. My theory had crumbled.
I solemnly walked back to my cozy seat, trying not to draw attention to the disappointment on my face. My heart felt heavy with the weight of failure, and the room seemed to close in around me as Brother Adamson took charge once more. “Okay, what did we learn from that activity,” asked Brother Adamson. With despair setting in, my thoughts turned inward and didn’t want to listen to Brother Adamson. The feeling of defeat overpowering my idle state. “What went wrong with my approach? Was it just impossible,” I thought.
At the peak of my internal criticism, my leg abruptly buzzed. Buzz. Buzz. Sluggishly, I placed my hand into my pocket. My hand pressed hard against the back of the green, plastic, rough case of the phone. With my hand against the phone, a unique vibration came bustling back. As it moved up through my hand and up my arm, I quickly pulled out the phone and powered it on. Suddenly, as the text notification popped up against the backdrop of the dark, cold mountains on my lock screen, my heart quickened, and my mood brightened up. “I know that vibration,” I muttered quietly that no one could hear. Anxiousness kicked in and the thoughts of discouragement expanded their grasp. “Is this going to be another defeat,” I thought. I was hesitant to click on the notification, knowing that my defeat from the target might not be my only defeat. Click. It opened.
“All of my roommates and I would love to come! Let me know what time dinner will be tonight,” replied Renee. As I read the message, relief washed over me. The earlier thoughts of my defeat with the target and balloon vanished, and my thoughts were overtaken by the future of tonight. “I hadn’t failed everything today,” I uttered in my mind, finding renewed fulfillment. With that thought, class ended, and I got up to leave anticipating the rest of my day. I paused as I moved to the exit and thought, “What was class even about?” With a shrug and a smile, I pushed open the door.” Oh well, I guess I was busy with other things.”