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Running On Faith - Inside Casey Clinger's Two-Year Mission To Japan

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DyeStat.com   Mar 19th 2019, 8:16pm
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Running on Faith

 

Inside Casey Clinger's 2-Year Mission To Japan



“Just keep me where the light is.”

- Gravity, John Mayer

_______________

A DyeStat Story By Dave Devine

 

It should have been the start of cross country season.

The month was right — September, 2018. Days were getting shorter, temperatures cooling after an oppressive summer, leaves beginning to turn in the foothills.

Harrier weather.

But while his Brigham Young University teammates were in Provo, Utah, preparing to run their first invitational of the season, Casey Clinger was 5,000 miles away, wandering the shattered streets of an earthquake-struck island, handing out tuna fish.

Just after 3 a.m. on Thursday, September 6, Clinger and the other 5.3 million residents of Hokkaido — Japan’s northernmost island — had been startled from their sleep by a 6.7-magnitude quake that triggered massive landslides, rendered roads and rail lines impassable, and cut power to the entire island.

The temblor, which struck one day after the region was inundated by the worst typhoon to hit Japan in 25 years, left at least 41 dead and more than 690 injured.

Clinger, in Hokkaido to serve a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, realized fairly quickly that most of the damage lay to the south of where he was staying, but the island-wide electrical outage meant there were needs in every direction.

“It was a massive blackout,” he recalled recently. “All of Hokkaido. The convenience stores, everything — all of the food was gone within, like, a day. Shelves were empty. There were a lot of people struggling to find food or water.”

Clinger and his missionary companion hit the streets with the most helpful thing they could find — canned tuna from the pantry of a church building.

As they checked in with residents — inquiring about food, water, medical needs — they came across a man carrying a package of natto, a popular Japanese food made from fermented soybeans.

Three days into the outage, it seemed an implausible sight.

“It was just impossible to find natto in Japan after the blackout — it was all gone. There was hardly any food.”

The man politely demurred when Clinger and his companion offered tuna and water, insisting instead that they accept his natto as a gift.

“He wouldn’t leave without letting us take it. We were just so amazed by the selflessness of this man in this crazy time with the earthquake. There’s not much food, and he’s still willing to give us whatever he had.”

Recalling the encounter several months later, Clinger frames it as one of many grace-filled moments he can number at this, the midpoint of his two-year mission.

“Things like that, you don’t forget. It’s such an act of kindness.”

 

* * *

 Clinger NXN

You want to hear about the running. That’s understandable.

How can you not wonder?

Casey Clinger was a two-time Nike Cross Nationals champion, the only male in NXN history to win back-to-back individual titles. He claimed the 2016 Utah 5A state title in 14:42.9 — a course and meet record. Tallied 15 straight victories to close out the fall and was selected Gatorade National Cross Country Athlete of the Year.

That spring, he dropped personal bests of 4:02.90 for the mile and 8:44.70 for 3,200 meters. He anchored an American Fork 4x1,600-meter relay that decimated the national record.

As a true freshman at BYU, he fronted the Cougars to a then-program-best third at the 2017 NCAA Cross Country Championships. Finishing 24th, he was the top freshman in the field and an All-American in his first collegiate season.

So, the questions seem warranted.

Sixteen months after that NCAA meet — Clinger’s last race of any kind — it’s reasonable to wonder about workouts or weekly mileage.

But all of that can come later.  

Because Clinger, reached by Skype in a special session requiring approval from Sapporo Mission President Russell McClure, has other things on his mind.

“Over here, I’m just known as Elder Clinger — Kuringa Choro — and it’s been refreshing to be known that way. We wear a badge, and it’s Jesus Christ’s name on it, and that’s what we’re about, sharing the Gospel of Jesus Christ.”

Following a plan laid out before high school graduation, Clinger completed his fall coursework at BYU, then entered his church’s Missionary Training Center in early January 2018.

After nine weeks of intensive study he departed for Sapporo, Japan, in mid-March.

And just like every other missionary among the 65,000 currently serving throughout the world, he didn’t get to choose his destination.

“Our church leaders choose where we go,” Clinger says. “It’s actually a very prayerful process. They really seek the guidance of the Lord to determine where each missionary should go. It’s important where we go — it’s our calling.”

For Clinger, that calling also represented a generational connection.

“My dad served his mission in Nagoya, Japan.”

When Clinger opened the portentous letter all missionaries receive, the one identifying his placement for the next 24 months, the words SAPPORO, JAPAN on the cover page felt particularly providential.

“As a boy,” he says, “I had listened to my dad talk about his mission and his experiences in Japan. Even as a small child, I always thought about being on a mission, and it was always Japan, just because my dad went there.”

SteveSteve Clinger’s mission ran from 1988 to 1990, about 600 miles south of where his son currently serves.

“Thirty years ago,” Steve says with a chuckle. “I do not feel that old.”

But those two years in Nagoya — three decades ago — made a lasting impact on Steve. He still speaks Japanese; his family has adopted some of the customs he internalized as a missionary, like removing their shoes inside the home; Casey and his four brothers grew up loving Japanese food.

Casey even took a semester of Japanese in high school.

But despite the paternal connection, there was nothing preordained about being called to Japan. When Casey’s two older brothers served their missions, one went to Ecuador and the other to Colombia.

Steve jokes that those sons, after watching Casey receive a succession of accolades and awards for his high school running, were in mild disbelief when their younger brother pulled that mission letter from the envelope.

“He received this call to Japan,” Steve says, “and it was like — seriously? Is there anything Casey doesn’t get?”

But if the middle child’s call to Japan felt privileged within the Clinger family, his time abroad has been no different than that of any other missionary.

Long days and a disciplined life.

Some moments that feel grace-filled, others challenging.

Often, both at once.

“Our main purpose as missionaries,” Clinger says, “is to invite people to come unto Christ. Which means to learn about Jesus Christ — that’s our main purpose. We also do lots of service. We teach free English lessons and help strengthen the congregations in Japan.”

For up to 11 hours a day, from 10 a.m. to 9 p.m., Clinger and a companion are out in the community, spreading a message they believe can be life-changing.

The work — emanating light, spreading joy — can sound somewhat amorphous to the unaffiliated, but days are rarely spent knocking on one door after another, the way missionaries are often portrayed in popular culture.

They attempt to preach through action, as much as word.

“Here in Hokkaido,” Clinger says, “we do lots of — it’s called yukikaki — snow shovel. We do lots of snow shoveling for people, because the snow is crazy here.”

Sapporo, the island’s capital city, sees an average of 235 inches (19.6 feet) of snow a year, heaviest in the world among cities with more than a million residents.

“The last couple of months,” Steve Clinger confirms, “they didn’t go anywhere without a snow shovel. If there’s somebody who needs to be dug out, they would dig them out on their way to the next appointment or the next English class they’re teaching.”

Even as he teaches English, Clinger is still mastering his new country’s language.

The nine-week crash course at the Missionary Training Center, paired with a semester of high school Japanese, only got him so far.

“When I got to Japan,” Clinger says, “I realized that I didn’t speak as much Japanese as I thought. We were kind of thrown into the deep end. Most of what we do is speaking with people, so it was hard at first. But it’s been quite an amazing experience, learning that way.”

That upbeat approach typifies Clinger’s mindset about the entire year.

“Being on a mission can be hard, you grow in ways you couldn’t doing anything else.”

 

* * * 

Clingers

Steve Clinger is describing a photograph of his wife, Tiffany.

It was taken in the entryway of their home on the January day they took Casey to the Missionary Training Center to begin his mission. In the picture, Tiffany is clenching her son, attempting to say goodbye.

“She’s just sobbing,” Steve says. “She’s destroyed.”

You might imagine, with two sons having already served missions, this would have gotten easier for Steve and Tiffany Clinger.

You might think they’ve gotten used to the send-offs and the separation.

They haven’t.

“It’s what you pray for,” Steve says, “it’s what you want for your child, but it is very, very difficult at first, because there’s so little communication. And you just — you miss them.”

Three sons in, and the goodbyes don’t come any easier.

“This is a great kid, right? I mean, he’s done everything, and to let that go…”

Steve trails off.

Starts a different sentence, then another. Tries talking about more concrete things.

Things like Casey’s 1998 Jeep, which the family couldn’t leave in the driveway after Casey departed.

“We had to park it inside the garage for two months,” Steve says. “Because when you turn the corner and come into our cul-de-sac, if that Jeep is there, that means Casey’s home.”

And he wasn't.

He isn’t — and won’t be for another 10 months.

If the Jeep was a visual reminder of their son’s absence, certain songs Casey liked to pick out on his beloved guitar — including the entire John Mayer catalogue — would occasionally ambush his parents from the radio speakers, a soundtrack to their lingering sense of loss.  

“It was always in the background,” Steve says, “Casey picking through some song. We’d hear some of those songs [after he left] and we’d just have to shut them off. Because we missed Casey so much.” 

When Steve served his mission 30 years ago, handwritten letters were the sole option for communication.  

“It was a genuine separation,” he says. 

His two older sons were allowed to email weekly and Skype twice a year, on Christmas and Mother’s Day. 

Casey’s experience followed a similar pattern until a month ago, when the church issued new communication standards that allow weekly text messaging, phone calls and video chat, in addition to emails and letters.  

But anticipating when they’ll hear from Casey — and the fact that seeing his face is a weekly possibility — doesn’t make the distance any less daunting.

When the earthquake struck Hokkaido last September, Tiffany and Steve were notified almost immediately by the mission president. The brief, matter-of-fact email contained all the necessary information: There’s been an earthquake. We’ve reached out to all the missionaries. Everyone is safe.

It was a relief, Steve says, “that we didn’t have to hear it on the news.”

But how did it feel, as a parent, knowing his son was caught in the aftermath of an earthquake on the other side of the globe?

At that question, Steve grows momentarily quiet.

“I’m getting a little emotional thinking about it —” His voice quavers, then catches. “Look, my first feeling was, there’s going to be so many people who need help…and all those missionaries are there. They can do something.”

He touches on the structures of community and connection within his church, the ability to mobilize in times of need. The damaged infrastructure he was hearing about in Sapporo.

“Missionaries can grab a shovel and dig as fast as anyone else, because they’re 20-year-old kids. To know Casey was there —”

He trails off again. Mentions the snow shoveling. The cans of tuna.

Wrestling to articulate — again — the ways his son might be a light to others in a time of need, an expression of God’s love in a broken place.

How important that is within their faith tradition.

“As parents, these are the things we pray for, right? This is the payday, when your son or daughter graduates from college or high school, and for us, being members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, one of those paydays is when they, on their own, decide to drop everything and serve the Lord.” 

* * * 

mission

You want to hear about the running. 

Okay, here’s a runner: Ethan Youngberg.

He’s a 2018 graduate of West High in Salt Lake City, Utah. He ran a 3-mile best of 17:21 in cross country, has a 1,600-meter PR of 4:47. A two-time qualifier to the Utah 5A state cross country meet, he finished 111th with a time of 18:13 in the same championship race that Casey Clinger won in a course record 14:42.

He goes by Elder Youngberg now, and he’s part of this story, too.

Missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are always paired with a companion, someone with whom they share an apartment, eat meals, study, pray and teach.

“We’re called two-by-two, in everything we do,” Clinger says. “That’s how it works. We always have a companion with us at all times.”

If Clinger is heading out to shop or teach the Gospel or shovel snow, his companion is with him.

Emailing or chatting on-line with family and friends — Clinger’s companion is in the room.

The same goes for exercise.

The missionary’s daily schedule allows for 30 minutes of physical activity at the beginning of each day, shoehorned into the hour provided for morning preparations (which for male missionaries includes shaving, showering and dressing in slacks, a white shirt and a tie).

It’s not a window that’s optimized for elite athletic training.

“If my companion doesn’t want to run,” Clinger says, “or even go out with me, I can’t run. That was a little bit of a transition.”

It’s a transition many collegiate runners on mission have faced.

Conner Mantz, another talented Utah prep who matriculated to BYU, returned from his mission to Ghana in the fall of Clinger’s freshman year.

His running was inconsistent, at best, during the two years away.

“If your companion doesn’t actually run,” Mantz says, “or doesn’t want to run, or doesn’t even want to go watch you run in a park, you’re pretty much stuck in the apartment.”

For Mantz, that meant a steady diet of push-ups, planks and wall-sits.

“Those 30 minutes, we just try our best.”

Since arriving in March 2018, Clinger has moved through a series of transfer cycles, meaning different apartments, shifting neighborhoods, and locales that have ranged from backcountry rural to bustling urban.

And it’s meant seven different companions.

“I’ve been fortunate,” he allows, “to have great companions, guys who are at least willing to ride bikes next to me in the morning.”

Which doesn’t mean it’s always been easy.

As Clinger’s dad points out, it’s not uncommon for missionaries to be matched to a companion with whom they have almost nothing in common — except the shared work of teaching the Gospel.

“That can be really hard for a young person,” Steve says. “For anyone, trying to make that relationship function. It stretches you as a human.”

When the Clingers heard about Casey’s most recent companion, and then saw him flitting in the background of a recent Skype session, they smiled at the connection.

In Elder Youngberg, Clinger has a companion who not only enjoys running, but ran cross country in Utah — just like him.

“What a blessing,” Steve says, “to have a guy who wants to run.”

As high schoolers, Youngberg and Clinger covered the same terrain, ran in the shadow of the same mountain range, competed in the same meets.

Albeit, at slightly different paces.

Most days, they wake at 6:30 in the morning, stretch quickly, and attempt to scratch out 30 minutes of running on the icy streets near their apartment.

“Especially with this snow,” Clinger says, “we can’t go very far, but we try our hardest.”  

* * * 

shovel

Last fall, when the BYU Cougars were again battling Northern Arizona for the NCAA cross country title, when the teammates Clinger led as a freshman in 2017 were attempting to win it without him in 2018, you might imagine he found a way to watch from Japan.

He must have figured out a way to stream the race, right?

Or followed live updates on-line?

He did not.

“We really are expected to leave behind what we had before the mission,” he says. “We don’t stream social media or watch TV or anything like that.”

While he certainly tracked BYU’s progress, as well as that of the American Fork squad, where his younger brother, Carson, currently stars, he could only receive results and updates on an email account he checks each Monday — his designated preparation day.

So, that Saturday morning NCAA race, in which the Cougars finished second to NAU?

“I waited until the next Monday,” Clinger says.

And does he ever find himself daydreaming? Inserting his 2017 finish — or a few spots better — into BYU’s 2018 NCAA score? Wondering if his contribution might have been enough to put the Cougars over Northern Arizona?

“Of course,” he says, after a thoughtful pause. “That kind of stuff pops into my head every now and then, but being out here has helped me realize that this is what’s right for me. There are challenges now and then, thinking about running and wanting to be a part of that, but I wouldn’t trade this experience—”

He hesitates again, long enough to suggest something unspoken about friendship and camaraderie. The inarticulable ache for the company of teammates, even in midst of his present fulfillment.

“Sometimes, I — It’s true, you just have to keep focused.”

If there are doubts about regaining the All-America form that found him leading the Cougars as a freshman, he has only to look to those same teammates for examples of successful returns.

Mantz’s name comes up several times, which isn’t surprising.

One year after transitioning from his mission to Ghana, the redshirt freshman stunned NCAA observers by leading nearly the entire championship race before fading slightly to a 10th-place finish.

“First off,” Clinger says, “Conner Mantz is an animal. His example has definitely helped me a lot.”

But if anything, Mantz’s training during his mission was even spottier than Clinger’s.

“It was back and forth,” Mantz says. “Sometimes no running, sometimes just a mile. And the mile would be at like, 10-minute pace. I didn’t know the actual distances, but we’d run for 10 minutes and I’d assume it was a mile — that’s how it felt.”

Like Clinger, he harbored doubts about a return to fitness.

“I probably had more times like that than most people,” Mantz acknowledges. “There was an inner conflict in me — it was like, I know I’m here because of my faith, and it’s the place I need to be, but I’m out of shape…it felt like I worked so hard for running, and now I’m just kind of letting it go.”

When he returned from Ghana in July 2017, he was desperate for a run. The very first evening, he set out on a 3-miler with his younger sister.

“She put me in the hurt locker,” he says with a laugh.

The next day he called his coach, longtime BYU mentor Ed Eyestone, who put Mantz on a gradual build-up — focused on minutes, not miles — starting with 15 minutes-a-day for at least a week. Adding five minutes per day after that.

It was a long road back.

“Workouts were just brutal,” Mantz acknowledges. “Even on easy runs — I would be giving everything I had to just stay up with the guys. Honestly, that was just as hard, if not harder, than when I was serving on mission and doubting my fitness.”

He ran unattached in the first race that fall, and finished as BYU’s 15th man.

“For the rest of that season, I would just get annihilated. It was a very humbling experience.”

One year later, eight kilometers into the NCAA championship race, he was trading elbows at the front of the pack.

It’s a result, Mantz is quick to point out, that required both consistent effort and remarkable patience, but it’s the sort of outcome that offers hope to other runners serving a mission.

“It is kind of scary,” Clinger says, “coming on a mission and leaving running behind. But ultimately, I believe that if I put my trust in the Lord, and serve Him, that once this is over — when I return home — hopefully I’ll be able to click back into shape.”

He chuckles at how simple that sounds, even to himself.

Click into shape.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to get back as well as Conner did, but I’ll try my best.” 

* * * 

japanese

It’s understandable — you want to hear more about the running.

But this isn’t a story about running.

This is a story about snow shovels.

And cans of tuna.

And the last package of natto in the aftermath of an earthquake. 

This is a story about a Jeep parked in a garage because there are too many memories when it sits in the driveway. And radio stations, switched off when certain songs begin to play. 

It’s a story about unwavering faith, and the questions that every faith tradition seeks to answer: Why am I here? What’s the meaning of all of this? Is there a higher purpose?

It’s about a boy who grew up listening to his father’s stories about Japan, and is now a young man in the same country, trying to figure out the same things: What it means to stand in the light of his faith. How he can use his gifts to be a light for others.  

This is a story about fierce love and fleeting loneliness.

Certainty, and the ways that certitude unravels at 3 o’clock in the morning when you’re wide awake and sleepless, staring at the ceiling in an unfamiliar apartment. Or halfway through a predawn run on a snow-crusted road.

Grappling with the questions we all struggle to answer: Why am I here? Does any of this make a difference?

This is a story about a runner, but it’s not about running.

Just listen to Conner Mantz:

“It was tough, honestly. I had to constantly re-think: Okay, why am I out here? What’s my purpose? I just had to give everything to God, feeling like if God wants me to be out here, and wants me to keep running after I’m done, so be it. But if not, life isn’t all running. There are other things.”

Or listen to Steve Clinger:

“It’s a massive letting-go, and that is the hardest thing for these young kids. There’s no program. You decide what you do every single day, and you have full responsibility and accountability for your time.”

Or listen to his son, Casey, describe how distance running prepared him for these months of barely running at all:

“Within your training as a runner, you have great days and you have really bad days, but it’s every day. There are hard moments and there are great moments, and through consistency and not dwelling too much on the hard moments, you can become something great.”

Of course, the difficult thing about a mission is that “becoming something great” looks entirely different than it does in the realm of athletics.

There aren’t many metrics for this kind of work. No stopwatch, or finish line to gauge success.

The goals — such as they are — remain intangible, elusive. There is no quota for baptisms. No checklist of neighborhoods or door-knocks to tally.

“I’ve never checked homes off a list,” Clinger says. “That’s not something I’ve ever done. Ultimately, we try to focus everything on people.”

That means being out in the world.

It means a series of encounters; some deliberate, some serendipitous.

It means that Clinger’s ultimate success — and maturation — is necessarily measured in more ethereal ways.

In conversations and questions. Invitations and open doors.

Shoveled driveways and shared meals.

“The best way to find joy in this work,” he says, “is just loving the people I’m with — really desiring their happiness and desiring to serve God as best I can. That advice came from a lot of friends. Loving the people and loving God, and through that I’ve found a lot of joy.”



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1 comment(s)
Donal Pearce
Great article!
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