Virtue is the power that flowed from Jesus Christ when a woman with an issue of blood reached for the hem of his garment.
It is the repeated focus of General Authorities, recently added to the list of Young Women's values.
It is the vital prerequisite to Priesthood power.
It is the power by which Sister missionaries are made to do bold things.
At first when I saw the group of construction workers, I ignored them. My companion did the same. We shared an unspoken understanding that these men were an exception to the cardinal missionary rule to "open your mouth." But the Spirit gnawed at me, and I felt guilty for breaking my personal creed to talk to everyone. So we turned around.
Eight men. Eight blue jump suits. A water project slowly under way. Probably not the sort of men that single girls should approach. They laughed and stared as we approached. I felt like a little girl in my daisy skirt and flat slipper-shoes. The braid around my head and my backpack stuffed with scriptures often leads people to take me for a highschooler. But the badge on my chest with the name "Jesus Christ" put a little fire in my bones.
"Hello," I called out. I inquired on the project. A few replied, a few laughed. "We are missionaries, and we couldn't pass you by without offering to pray." One of them agreed, probably as a joke. But I don't joke about prayer. "What can we pray for?" I insisted. A generalized response was replied. But these men had families and wives, the Spirit said. "How about your families? May I pray for them? Goodness knows that you have an important job as fathers and husbands," I said. They consented. We held hands in a great big circle, and I acted as voice.
The entire interaction was probably only five minutes long, but it stands out to me as the most significant five minutes of my week. None of the men accepted our follow-up invitation to share a message about Jesus Christ with their families, and none of them took a pass-along card. They laughed in an ungentlemanly way when we left. But for 35 seconds, I felt the Spirit as we prayed with eight men. I knew that God loved them. I felt a vision that God had better plans for these men and for their families. And I knew that there are no exceptions to the rule to open my mouth.
God loves all of his children. There is power in virtue.
I am grateful to be a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Monday, July 22, 2013
Dear Grandpa
Dear Grandpa,
My mission president called this morning to tell me that you died.
I was in the middle of personal study, and Alma jumped to mind to remind me that you have been "taken home to the God that gave you life."
I wonder if you will make Him laugh. You certainly make me laugh. "Rapunzel, Rapunzel," you'd say to me when my braids hung long down my back. When I came back from Jerusalem you changed the tune. "Them Arabs are lobbin' rockets over, are they?" you'd say. I'd laugh and explain things in detail, but my voice wasn't laud enough to clarify the whole of the situation. So we'd smile and laugh and love each other even though we couldn't really communicate.
I'll miss the deafness. I hope that's not disrespectful. But the absence of hearing made for some pretty comical conversations, Grandpa! If you have an angelic videographer, I'd recommend watching the back reels sometime.
You know what else I remember? (Forgive my reminiscing, but it feels cathartic today.) I remember massaging your bald head as a kid. I thought it was a bit weird, but I liked to do it because you seemed so satisfied to sit in the kitchen chair and let your grandchildren rub your head.
I took notes on the stories you told at the cabin when I was a teenager. The titles betray your most infamous tales: "The Amorous Bear," "Marriage in a Sheep-camp," "Eleven Miracle Children," "Tithing and Trickery," and "Hymns in the Navy" are among my favorites. You are a master storyteller.
Thank you for raising eleven beautiful children, Grandpa. One of them is my dad, and I think the world of him...His ten siblings and their spouses and children are pretty fabulous, too. You provided me with a child's delight: cousins by the dozens, three big cabins, a farm, fishing, a few lakes, and mountains to rove. I wouldn't be who I am today without cousins and cabins and really wonderful family traditions.
Thanks for taking care of your lovely wife. She's a hero of mine. I accidentally stumbled upon a stack of love letters when I was visiting you last year. I shouldn't have read them, but I did, and may I say that you are a romantic! I hope I meet a guy with as much class as you someday.
I'll miss you, Grandpa. Please watch over me here. I think you'd like Oklahoma. If you notice my spirits getting glum, feel free to poke me with a funny story every now and then. Take care of Grandma as best as you can from that side of the veil, and we'll watch over her here.
It is tradition for all of your children and grandchildren to give you a birthday wish. And, in keeping with tradition, I wish you a very good catch. I hope the fishing is good in heaven! Or hell. Hehe, only joking. I hear that one of your last comments was something about how 90 years is too *$%*! old. Swearing always strikes me as offensive...except when it comes from you, Grandpa. Then it's just funny. A mouth like yours probably fits somewhere less than celestial, but wherever you are I hope I go, too. :)
Happy 90th!!
Your adoring granddaughter,
-Sister Jenny Stewart (ie: Rapunzel)
My mission president called this morning to tell me that you died.
I was in the middle of personal study, and Alma jumped to mind to remind me that you have been "taken home to the God that gave you life."
I wonder if you will make Him laugh. You certainly make me laugh. "Rapunzel, Rapunzel," you'd say to me when my braids hung long down my back. When I came back from Jerusalem you changed the tune. "Them Arabs are lobbin' rockets over, are they?" you'd say. I'd laugh and explain things in detail, but my voice wasn't laud enough to clarify the whole of the situation. So we'd smile and laugh and love each other even though we couldn't really communicate.
I'll miss the deafness. I hope that's not disrespectful. But the absence of hearing made for some pretty comical conversations, Grandpa! If you have an angelic videographer, I'd recommend watching the back reels sometime.
You know what else I remember? (Forgive my reminiscing, but it feels cathartic today.) I remember massaging your bald head as a kid. I thought it was a bit weird, but I liked to do it because you seemed so satisfied to sit in the kitchen chair and let your grandchildren rub your head.
I took notes on the stories you told at the cabin when I was a teenager. The titles betray your most infamous tales: "The Amorous Bear," "Marriage in a Sheep-camp," "Eleven Miracle Children," "Tithing and Trickery," and "Hymns in the Navy" are among my favorites. You are a master storyteller.
Thank you for raising eleven beautiful children, Grandpa. One of them is my dad, and I think the world of him...His ten siblings and their spouses and children are pretty fabulous, too. You provided me with a child's delight: cousins by the dozens, three big cabins, a farm, fishing, a few lakes, and mountains to rove. I wouldn't be who I am today without cousins and cabins and really wonderful family traditions.
Thanks for taking care of your lovely wife. She's a hero of mine. I accidentally stumbled upon a stack of love letters when I was visiting you last year. I shouldn't have read them, but I did, and may I say that you are a romantic! I hope I meet a guy with as much class as you someday.
I'll miss you, Grandpa. Please watch over me here. I think you'd like Oklahoma. If you notice my spirits getting glum, feel free to poke me with a funny story every now and then. Take care of Grandma as best as you can from that side of the veil, and we'll watch over her here.
It is tradition for all of your children and grandchildren to give you a birthday wish. And, in keeping with tradition, I wish you a very good catch. I hope the fishing is good in heaven! Or hell. Hehe, only joking. I hear that one of your last comments was something about how 90 years is too *$%*! old. Swearing always strikes me as offensive...except when it comes from you, Grandpa. Then it's just funny. A mouth like yours probably fits somewhere less than celestial, but wherever you are I hope I go, too. :)
Happy 90th!!
Your adoring granddaughter,
-Sister Jenny Stewart (ie: Rapunzel)
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
A Journey Worthwhile: Of Wilderness and Promised Lands
I cried this week. Thanks to a series of faith-filled, humorous companions, I can't remember the last time I cried.
I received a letter from a dear childhood friend. She met a boy...isn't that how it always begins? And they might get married. I laughed and grinned at her giddy words, but then I felt sad. Sad to miss the wedding, sad that I don't know this guy, but mostly sad because my life isn't what I expected it would be.
"Normative timeline." This is the phrase that scholars use to explain my confusing feelings. Human beings create a set of developmental expectations (or "normative timelines"), and we worry when the timing of major life events fails to match the norm. My perception of a normative timeline was to go to college at 18, to get married at 20, and to probably have a small perfect family by 24.
God knows better.
He knew what I did not know about myself. That I have an appetite for scholarship and spirituality, and that I might need some time in school to learn and thrill and grow into myself. That I have a small seed of wanderlust that would find nourishment in places like Jerusalem and Virginia and Oklahoma. That I would desperately want to serve my Savior Jesus Christ, and that some well-timed orchestrations could land me in a wonderful place at a historic time as a full-time missionary.
He knows me better than I know myself.
Call me a radical for graduating from BYU without a ring on my left hand. Maybe it's tyrannical that I didn't get a degree with any obvious utility. I'm criminal for loving my twisted, unexpected journey as much as I do. But God knows best. My tears have changed from sad tears to tears of gratitude. I am thankful for a Heavenly Father who loves me enough to let me depart from normative timelines. I'm not the first. Abraham and Sarah had babies way past due. Enoch felt like he was just a "young lad" when he was called to do great things. Maybe Moses didn't envision promised lands to be so difficult to obtain.
But God has better plans for our happiness than we do.
My favorite talk of late is Our Wonderful Journey Home, in which President Uchtdorf described the Plan of Salvation in story-tale format.* His description of Bilbo Baggins seems a suitable description of my own life:
And of course there is Bilbo Baggins, the small unassuming hobbit who would very much have preferred to stay home and eat his soup. But after a knock at his door, he follows the call of the great unknown and steps out into the world, together with a wizard and a band of dwarfs, to fulfill a dangerous but vitally important mission.
Switch a few words, and I hear the Spirit telling my story: "And of course there is Jenny, the unassuming girl who would very much prefer to stay at home with an apron around her waist and her family at hand. But after an encounter with the living Son of God, she follows the call of the Spirit and steps out into the world, together with a companion and a ragtaggle group of striving disciples to fulfill a dangerous but vitally important mission."
God knows best.
So here's to adventure! To non-normative timelines. To the circuitous route that always leads home. Before the promised land there is always a wilderness. The trick is learning to find joy in the journey.**
* http://www.lds.org/broadcasts/article/general-young-women-meeting/2013/03/your-wonderful-journey-home?lang=eng
** http://www.lds.org/general-conference/2008/10/finding-joy-in-the-journey?lang=eng
I received a letter from a dear childhood friend. She met a boy...isn't that how it always begins? And they might get married. I laughed and grinned at her giddy words, but then I felt sad. Sad to miss the wedding, sad that I don't know this guy, but mostly sad because my life isn't what I expected it would be.
"Normative timeline." This is the phrase that scholars use to explain my confusing feelings. Human beings create a set of developmental expectations (or "normative timelines"), and we worry when the timing of major life events fails to match the norm. My perception of a normative timeline was to go to college at 18, to get married at 20, and to probably have a small perfect family by 24.
God knows better.
He knew what I did not know about myself. That I have an appetite for scholarship and spirituality, and that I might need some time in school to learn and thrill and grow into myself. That I have a small seed of wanderlust that would find nourishment in places like Jerusalem and Virginia and Oklahoma. That I would desperately want to serve my Savior Jesus Christ, and that some well-timed orchestrations could land me in a wonderful place at a historic time as a full-time missionary.
He knows me better than I know myself.
Call me a radical for graduating from BYU without a ring on my left hand. Maybe it's tyrannical that I didn't get a degree with any obvious utility. I'm criminal for loving my twisted, unexpected journey as much as I do. But God knows best. My tears have changed from sad tears to tears of gratitude. I am thankful for a Heavenly Father who loves me enough to let me depart from normative timelines. I'm not the first. Abraham and Sarah had babies way past due. Enoch felt like he was just a "young lad" when he was called to do great things. Maybe Moses didn't envision promised lands to be so difficult to obtain.
But God has better plans for our happiness than we do.
My favorite talk of late is Our Wonderful Journey Home, in which President Uchtdorf described the Plan of Salvation in story-tale format.* His description of Bilbo Baggins seems a suitable description of my own life:
And of course there is Bilbo Baggins, the small unassuming hobbit who would very much have preferred to stay home and eat his soup. But after a knock at his door, he follows the call of the great unknown and steps out into the world, together with a wizard and a band of dwarfs, to fulfill a dangerous but vitally important mission.
Switch a few words, and I hear the Spirit telling my story: "And of course there is Jenny, the unassuming girl who would very much prefer to stay at home with an apron around her waist and her family at hand. But after an encounter with the living Son of God, she follows the call of the Spirit and steps out into the world, together with a companion and a ragtaggle group of striving disciples to fulfill a dangerous but vitally important mission."
God knows best.
So here's to adventure! To non-normative timelines. To the circuitous route that always leads home. Before the promised land there is always a wilderness. The trick is learning to find joy in the journey.**
* http://www.lds.org/broadcasts/article/general-young-women-meeting/2013/03/your-wonderful-journey-home?lang=eng
** http://www.lds.org/general-conference/2008/10/finding-joy-in-the-journey?lang=eng
Independence Day
Saturday, July 6, 2013
Of Help and Humour
(This week's entry is meant to evoke laughter, not tears. If you read with sympathy, you have read it wrong.)
Elder Douglas Callister promises that if we consecrate ourselves to the Lord, we will overcome our Goliaths. Feeling rather Danielish in a world of frightful giants, I take this promise seriously. This week I saw the fulfillment of this promises in three senses.
First, a confession of my Goliath. Historically speaking, I take myself too seriously. I cry when teased; I miss the punch line of jokes because i am too intent on the moral of the story; I am devastated when things go wrong.
My current companion is teaching me to laugh. I was bewildered by her for the first four days. She was so...strange. But happy. And never stressed. And that stressed me out all the more, because I didn't understand her. After two weeks, I'm beginning to understand. We do headstands before bed. We set ridiculous key-indicators to keep our morale up when things go wrong. We laugh at everything that can be politely ridiculed.
God provided divine Help in the form of humour this week. and it was a prime week to apply the gift, because we experienced a series of unfortunate events.
Unfortunate Event Numero Uno:
Being Pegged in the Noggin by Ball
This normal. There's probably a scientific formula for it. "When Jenny and Moving Spherical Object Occupy the Same Space, the Spherical Object Will Indubitably Hit Jenny in the Face." So when the volleyball smacked me in the face during zone p-day, I wasn't surprised. What surprised me was my reaction to it: It was funny. Usually I look at it from my own victimized perspective, and I feel like an idiot. But I imagined what it must have looked like from anyone else's perspective in the room, and suddenly it was delightful! What a gift.
Unfortunate Event Numero Dos:
In Which Face Eats Carpet
This is also normal. Some people lose their cookies when their stomach gets upset. I don't particularly like vomiting, so my body has worked out an alternative system. To avoid the unpleasant uprising of food, I just pass out. And then I have a seizure. Kind of weird, but that's how I roll.
Imagine this pattern of passing out and seizing in the context of a teaching appointment. It is 9 pm. I am on exchanges with a young Hermana. We are in the home of a gracious Mexican couple, and they are feeding us fabulous food. Course one goes well. They bring out the seconds. I've already had dinner, but I muscle it down. Dessert comes out, and I know I'm out for the count. Next thing I know, I'm lying on the floor and I can't move my body. There's a funky smell beneath my nose and someone is on the phone with the doctor.
I feel bad that I put my sweet young Herman in a sour position on her first exchange with her Sister Training Leader. And I feel worse that I broke the arm of the chair when I fell. But I couldn't help collapsing into peals of laughter whenever I thought of it (as soon as I could move my fingers and legs again). Delightful.
Unfortunate Event Numero Tres:
Unrequited & Thoroughly Awkward Love
This is NOT normal. Unrequited love is, of course, the only sort of love that occurs on a mission (other than the platonic, charitable sort, of course). We were thrilled when we tracted into a couple of young men who said that they were baptized Mormons. We texted back and forth for a few days trying to set up a time to teach them (in unabashed attempt to help them return to church). Our interactions came to a screeching halt when the following text rolled in:
"To be honest...I like Sister Stewart...your eyes...your innocence...your faith, your witz...but ya'all are missionaries...srry...feel bad."
AAAAAAgh! Sheer horror. But the text is now a beloved legacy and the punch line of all jokes. Comments about "my innocence" and "my witz" (nice spelling, smarty pants), and "my eyes" are the cheering words of our daily walk. What more could a person want?
And so I conclude this blog with a word of gratitude. I am beginning to suspect that our Heavenly Father has a keen sense of humour. And I think He'd like to let us in on the jokes if only we'll loosen up enough to listen to the punch lines with a smile rather than sarcasm.
"Be of good cheer..." D&C 68: 5
*In which the old English spelling is infinitely superior to the bland "humor" of modern verse.
Elder Douglas Callister promises that if we consecrate ourselves to the Lord, we will overcome our Goliaths. Feeling rather Danielish in a world of frightful giants, I take this promise seriously. This week I saw the fulfillment of this promises in three senses.
First, a confession of my Goliath. Historically speaking, I take myself too seriously. I cry when teased; I miss the punch line of jokes because i am too intent on the moral of the story; I am devastated when things go wrong.
My current companion is teaching me to laugh. I was bewildered by her for the first four days. She was so...strange. But happy. And never stressed. And that stressed me out all the more, because I didn't understand her. After two weeks, I'm beginning to understand. We do headstands before bed. We set ridiculous key-indicators to keep our morale up when things go wrong. We laugh at everything that can be politely ridiculed.
God provided divine Help in the form of humour this week. and it was a prime week to apply the gift, because we experienced a series of unfortunate events.
Unfortunate Event Numero Uno:
Being Pegged in the Noggin by Ball
This normal. There's probably a scientific formula for it. "When Jenny and Moving Spherical Object Occupy the Same Space, the Spherical Object Will Indubitably Hit Jenny in the Face." So when the volleyball smacked me in the face during zone p-day, I wasn't surprised. What surprised me was my reaction to it: It was funny. Usually I look at it from my own victimized perspective, and I feel like an idiot. But I imagined what it must have looked like from anyone else's perspective in the room, and suddenly it was delightful! What a gift.
Unfortunate Event Numero Dos:
In Which Face Eats Carpet
This is also normal. Some people lose their cookies when their stomach gets upset. I don't particularly like vomiting, so my body has worked out an alternative system. To avoid the unpleasant uprising of food, I just pass out. And then I have a seizure. Kind of weird, but that's how I roll.
Imagine this pattern of passing out and seizing in the context of a teaching appointment. It is 9 pm. I am on exchanges with a young Hermana. We are in the home of a gracious Mexican couple, and they are feeding us fabulous food. Course one goes well. They bring out the seconds. I've already had dinner, but I muscle it down. Dessert comes out, and I know I'm out for the count. Next thing I know, I'm lying on the floor and I can't move my body. There's a funky smell beneath my nose and someone is on the phone with the doctor.
I feel bad that I put my sweet young Herman in a sour position on her first exchange with her Sister Training Leader. And I feel worse that I broke the arm of the chair when I fell. But I couldn't help collapsing into peals of laughter whenever I thought of it (as soon as I could move my fingers and legs again). Delightful.
Unfortunate Event Numero Tres:
Unrequited & Thoroughly Awkward Love
This is NOT normal. Unrequited love is, of course, the only sort of love that occurs on a mission (other than the platonic, charitable sort, of course). We were thrilled when we tracted into a couple of young men who said that they were baptized Mormons. We texted back and forth for a few days trying to set up a time to teach them (in unabashed attempt to help them return to church). Our interactions came to a screeching halt when the following text rolled in:
"To be honest...I like Sister Stewart...your eyes...your innocence...your faith, your witz...but ya'all are missionaries...srry...feel bad."
AAAAAAgh! Sheer horror. But the text is now a beloved legacy and the punch line of all jokes. Comments about "my innocence" and "my witz" (nice spelling, smarty pants), and "my eyes" are the cheering words of our daily walk. What more could a person want?
And so I conclude this blog with a word of gratitude. I am beginning to suspect that our Heavenly Father has a keen sense of humour. And I think He'd like to let us in on the jokes if only we'll loosen up enough to listen to the punch lines with a smile rather than sarcasm.
"Be of good cheer..." D&C 68: 5
*In which the old English spelling is infinitely superior to the bland "humor" of modern verse.
Sweet Baptism
June 2013
This sweet sister "baked for us, and made us pot scrubbers and twisted beautiful hair bows for the little girls in the ward. She cried when she found out I was leaving. I have received permission to drive back to the Village to attend.
Tornado Siren Protocol
While the largest tornado in Oklahoma history is raging outside...in the bathroom, wearing bike helmets, singing "Master The Tempest is Raging."
May 2013
May 2013
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