"If you're not a full-time missionary with a missionary badge pinned on your coat, now is the time to paint one on your heart...returned missionaries, find your old missionary name tag...put it where you can see it. The Lord needs you more now than ever to be an instrument in His hands. All of us have a contribution to make in this miracle." -Elder Neil L. Anderson
The setting is a patch of grass in front of a pale-green apartment complex. It is 5 pm, and the wind is blowing from the west. Two sister missionaries and a 45 year-old Muslim from Senegal sit cross-legged with scriptures and notepads strewn about the lawn. This is their fourth meeting.
Investigator: Before I met you, I had heard this word, Mormon. But I didn't know what it meant.
Missionary: How did you know about Mormons?
Investigator: I saw something on YouTube and the word stuck in my head, and I have wondered what it meant.
Missionary: ...So what does it mean? If someone was to come up to you today and ask you what a Mormon is, what would you say?
Investigator: I would say that Mormons are the Christians.
Missionary: (Large grin and enthusiastic laugh) Haha; yes! Mormons are Christian!! I am so glad that's the first thing you know about us. We believe in Jesus Christ!
Investigator: No-Mormons are not just Christian. Mormons are THE Christians.
Missionary: (Wild, speechless grin...This from an investigator who fully appreciates the significance of the restoration of Jesus Christ's church on the earth today!)
Investigator: I didn't click on the "I'm a Mormon" video, but now I am living it.
Still not convinced? YouTube can make a difference! Post a Mormon Message today: http://mormon.org/people
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Monday, April 15, 2013
Of Men and Boys
Captivating title, eh? Bet you thought this blog entry would be something scandalizing about how Sister Stewart has failed to take President Kimball's advice to "lock her heart." Try again. I'm not so bad as that.
This is an entry of an entirely more sobering sort. I learned this week that these goofy 18-21 year-old comrades of mine aren't just boys, but men. The Priesthood is what bridges the gap.
Imagine training at 11 weeks. You're young and insecure and pretty ignorant about the mission still. Imagine loving your 19 year-old companion more than you thought possible. you laugh at her crazy love of animals, and rejoice in her bold teaching style, and on Mondays you play the quarter machines at Wal-Mart and listen to her favorite church song on repeat in the car. Now imagine struggling with her through homesickness. And when that homesickness blossoms into anxiety, which blossoms into sleeplessness and malnutrition you will cry with her and pray for her and trust all the while that she will be okay.
And then one day, President will call and say to her, "Pack your bags; you've got a ticket home at 4pm." And it's not okay anymore. But there is not time to mourn, just to cancel the appointments, hustle to the mission home, and spend the next five days in a trio with the sisters an area away, trying to keep your area alive and to put things in readiness to train yet again. Imagine the grief and the worry and the pace that still never slows. And then the awkwardness of not having food or clothes or your usual apartment.
Whew.
Enter the priesthood.
One day after my comp flew home, I found myself sitting on a chair in the primary room, surrounded by four teenage boys. My district leader and zone leaders laid their hands on my head and evoked the power of the Melchizedek Priesthood in my behalf. I could hear their post-lunch stomachs growling, and I sensed a few shaking hands as the elder offering the blessing paused and shifted to speak the words of God. I cannot recall the exact words spoken, but I received comfort and counsel and a moment of peace. I knew that they were speaking for God.
And how marvelous that God's love for me would be delivered by a group of gangly teenage boys! I am amazed every day to see young men -- at an age when society expects them to be nothing more than renegade -- in suits and ties, working day and night for the sole purpose of blessing others. They delivered my mattress to the temporary apartment so I could sleep well at night. They counseled me not to be discouraged. They called, coordinated, and made certain that I was not left alone.
I am blessed by them. I am blessed by their humor, their faith, their leadership, and their service.
Most of all, I am blessed by the Priesthood of God. How kind our Heavenly Father is to train up men to be worthy brothers, husbands, sons, and fathers! I would believe in the Church of Jesus Christ of latter-day Saints if all it had going for it was this Priesthood. It is the means by which God transforms boys to men. He makes them followers of Jesus Christ, having access to the very powers of heaven.
All will be well. God is on our side.
Doctrine & Covenants 121
This is an entry of an entirely more sobering sort. I learned this week that these goofy 18-21 year-old comrades of mine aren't just boys, but men. The Priesthood is what bridges the gap.
Imagine training at 11 weeks. You're young and insecure and pretty ignorant about the mission still. Imagine loving your 19 year-old companion more than you thought possible. you laugh at her crazy love of animals, and rejoice in her bold teaching style, and on Mondays you play the quarter machines at Wal-Mart and listen to her favorite church song on repeat in the car. Now imagine struggling with her through homesickness. And when that homesickness blossoms into anxiety, which blossoms into sleeplessness and malnutrition you will cry with her and pray for her and trust all the while that she will be okay.
And then one day, President will call and say to her, "Pack your bags; you've got a ticket home at 4pm." And it's not okay anymore. But there is not time to mourn, just to cancel the appointments, hustle to the mission home, and spend the next five days in a trio with the sisters an area away, trying to keep your area alive and to put things in readiness to train yet again. Imagine the grief and the worry and the pace that still never slows. And then the awkwardness of not having food or clothes or your usual apartment.
Whew.
Enter the priesthood.
One day after my comp flew home, I found myself sitting on a chair in the primary room, surrounded by four teenage boys. My district leader and zone leaders laid their hands on my head and evoked the power of the Melchizedek Priesthood in my behalf. I could hear their post-lunch stomachs growling, and I sensed a few shaking hands as the elder offering the blessing paused and shifted to speak the words of God. I cannot recall the exact words spoken, but I received comfort and counsel and a moment of peace. I knew that they were speaking for God.
And how marvelous that God's love for me would be delivered by a group of gangly teenage boys! I am amazed every day to see young men -- at an age when society expects them to be nothing more than renegade -- in suits and ties, working day and night for the sole purpose of blessing others. They delivered my mattress to the temporary apartment so I could sleep well at night. They counseled me not to be discouraged. They called, coordinated, and made certain that I was not left alone.
I am blessed by them. I am blessed by their humor, their faith, their leadership, and their service.
Most of all, I am blessed by the Priesthood of God. How kind our Heavenly Father is to train up men to be worthy brothers, husbands, sons, and fathers! I would believe in the Church of Jesus Christ of latter-day Saints if all it had going for it was this Priesthood. It is the means by which God transforms boys to men. He makes them followers of Jesus Christ, having access to the very powers of heaven.
All will be well. God is on our side.
Doctrine & Covenants 121
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Disgruntled
There really isn't a suitable word for the feeling that proceeds from contentious lessons. There is a guilty feeling. ("Where did we go wrong? What does Preach My Gospel say? Am I missing something when I teach? Have I failed to love? Don't I understand the doctrine?") Then there is question asking of an honest, edgy sort. ("What if they are right? What do I believe? Am I driven by dogma or true doctrine?") Sometimes there are even feelings of genuine anger. ("How dare they speak to my young, inexperienced companion like that?! Don't they know she's only 19 and homesick? Who treats young girls like that, anyway?!") Altogether, it is unpleasant and confusing.
Disgruntled is the best word I can find for this mess of emotion.
But you know what whispers quietly behind "disgruntled"? Wisdom. Because imperfection and suffering is instructive. Disgruntled leaves me with a thousand humbling, soul-searching questions to ask God.
And so I must give thanks. For the dear friend who lets us in out of sympathy to share a plate of cookies and gospel conversation, but who refuses to pray. For the Muslim mentor who fell in love with his missionaries instead of with the gospel. For the Ethiopian Coptic first-time investigator who soundly chastised us. For the doubting father who attends church with his family but who is letting himself fall away from God.
You teach me to love regardless of the outcome. You teach me to believe more fully in Christ, and to appreciate every form of godliness. You teach me to say as John, "He must increase, and I must decrease," lest our investigators love us more than they love Christ. You teach me to seek answers of God and not of men, lest I forsake the truths I love. You teach me to forgive, and to treat others with the Christianity that is occasionally denied us.
I am learning to be as Paul, and to glory in my weakness.
To learn from my trials.
To rejoice at all times in Jesus Christ and to be ready at all times to answer for the hope that is in me.
Disgruntled is the best word I can find for this mess of emotion.
But you know what whispers quietly behind "disgruntled"? Wisdom. Because imperfection and suffering is instructive. Disgruntled leaves me with a thousand humbling, soul-searching questions to ask God.
And so I must give thanks. For the dear friend who lets us in out of sympathy to share a plate of cookies and gospel conversation, but who refuses to pray. For the Muslim mentor who fell in love with his missionaries instead of with the gospel. For the Ethiopian Coptic first-time investigator who soundly chastised us. For the doubting father who attends church with his family but who is letting himself fall away from God.
You teach me to love regardless of the outcome. You teach me to believe more fully in Christ, and to appreciate every form of godliness. You teach me to say as John, "He must increase, and I must decrease," lest our investigators love us more than they love Christ. You teach me to seek answers of God and not of men, lest I forsake the truths I love. You teach me to forgive, and to treat others with the Christianity that is occasionally denied us.
I am learning to be as Paul, and to glory in my weakness.
To learn from my trials.
To rejoice at all times in Jesus Christ and to be ready at all times to answer for the hope that is in me.
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
Easter
We watched an Easter presentation on Friday night called "The Lamb of God." It's written by Rob Gardener, and it absolutely blew me away. It is 90 minutes of orchestra and small-voice choir. Soloist singers play the roles of various disciples and a lone cello plays the part of Christ. The combined narration and music captured almost to perfection my feelings and thoughts about the Atonement. I think I wept for an entire 90 minutes.
It took me back to Christmas Eve 2010 when we watched "Savior of the World." You will recall that I cried after that concert, too. But I cried then because I felt that I did not KNOW the truth of this savior, and I really wanted to know and understand what made my heart stir and my eyes weep.
"Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled."
Fast-forward again, this time to January 2013. I began to learn about one stricken by grief and afflicted because I was also stricken by grief and afflicted. "Remove this cup from me, nevertheless not my will but thine be done" was the ache of my homesick missionary heart.
Now I am learning not to know about Christ, but to know Him.
To know Him.
The only way to know someone that I can't see is to become like Him. To wake up each day with the intent of doing my Father's business. To qualify myself for the work with real compassion. To save rather than to condemn. To withhold mean judgement and to fill instead with brotherly kindness To crucify the natural man and to look outward rather than inward.
Every, every day this is my task and my burden. His work and His glory.
I prayed once, after reading the account of the Father introducing His son to Joseph Smith, for God to introduce His son to me. And He is doing so! And it hurts more than I expected. Loving means risking rejection. I can see why love is often described as a "fall." But the joy is deeper, too. And so I choose sometimes to fall, knowing that to every fall since the fall of Adam there has always been a deliverance planned.
It took me back to Christmas Eve 2010 when we watched "Savior of the World." You will recall that I cried after that concert, too. But I cried then because I felt that I did not KNOW the truth of this savior, and I really wanted to know and understand what made my heart stir and my eyes weep.
"Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled."
Fast-forward again, this time to January 2013. I began to learn about one stricken by grief and afflicted because I was also stricken by grief and afflicted. "Remove this cup from me, nevertheless not my will but thine be done" was the ache of my homesick missionary heart.
Now I am learning not to know about Christ, but to know Him.
To know Him.
The only way to know someone that I can't see is to become like Him. To wake up each day with the intent of doing my Father's business. To qualify myself for the work with real compassion. To save rather than to condemn. To withhold mean judgement and to fill instead with brotherly kindness To crucify the natural man and to look outward rather than inward.
Every, every day this is my task and my burden. His work and His glory.
I prayed once, after reading the account of the Father introducing His son to Joseph Smith, for God to introduce His son to me. And He is doing so! And it hurts more than I expected. Loving means risking rejection. I can see why love is often described as a "fall." But the joy is deeper, too. And so I choose sometimes to fall, knowing that to every fall since the fall of Adam there has always been a deliverance planned.
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