Mission blessings keep on giving

Picking just one lesson from this story for my title is hard.   I learned several as a missionary, and I have learned many in the past three weeks since I reconnected with the Cespedes family--a family I found and taught on my mission.  Sometimes the lessons learned on my mission just keep on giving.

Let me preface this story by saying that one of the main things that motivated me to serve a mission was the great love I felt for my family and peace within it.  After studying at college and meeting roommates and friends and having my eyes opened just a bit to how lucky I had been to have grown up with the gospel in my home, I found myself really wanting to share that peace with other families.  During my mission, my focus and hope and dream was to find a family to teach and baptize.  I taught many people.  The Bolivians were so faithful and believing.  We had many baptisms as well.  But I never did teach and baptize a whole family.  I realize now that that was probably an unrealistic goal.  Missionaries often work with people for a long time and often families join little by little and that was my experience for the most part.  

My last area of my mission was in Cochabamba, in the ward just next to the ward boundaries where the temple was being built.   The closer we got to the temple open house dates, the more blessed we seemed to be in our efforts to find people.  One day, we were on the street, knocking doors, and we decided to each pray individually and ask where we should go.  We would bow our heads and pray and before opening our eyes, we would point in the direction that felt right and somehow we always pointed in the same direction.  That was our method that day and as we were heading down the street, we turned the corner, and a man opened up the door and saw us coming toward him.  We greeted him and asked if he would like to hear a message about God.  He seemed enthusiastic and let us in.  He called his wife and together we set up an appointment to return.  

They were golden! Arminda was enamored by the teachings of the gospel and felt the spirit strongly.  Demetrio was a bit more skeptical but loved to have us in their home.  They invited us on picnics and to dinner and we learned to love them and their three adorable kids.  We loved this family and they loved us.  I felt like they were the family that I had been looking for my entire mission.   Sadly, my time in the mission was ending and I left before anyone was baptized.   Sister Haglund kept me posted and I eventually learned that Arminda, Litzy, and Samuel had been baptized but Demetrio hadn't been.  I sent them a wedding invitation and they sent me the invitation to their daughter's quincanera.  They had copied the design of our wedding announcement almost exactly.  I loved it!  But then we lost contact.  They moved and so never got a letter from me.  

About three years later, my dad went to Cochabamba and spoke at the institute.   Litzy wrote me a letter and sent it back with him.  That was the last I heard from them.  I looked on Facebook but it is very hard to find Bolivians there as their names are often different.  The email address I had didn't work.  Apparently I had given them my Spanish name, Sonia, and so they couldn't find me on Facebook.  I never knew what happened to them.

Fast forward to three weeks ago.  My mom called me one Sunday night and said, "A family from your mission is trying to reach you.  They will call you--I gave them your number."  And sure enough, the phone rang instantly and when I answered, to my great delight, it was the Cespedes family.  They were in Utah for a vacation and they told me that they had come to find me.  

What a happy reunion it was to see them!  Memories of 21 years ago have been flooding back to me.  My rusty Spanish has been put to good use.  We had family night together the first two Mondays in May and last weekend I drove them to BYUI with their daughter to see the campus and understand how the church schools work.   On Monday they came over during the day and we cooked "Sopa de mani" or peanut soup--my favorite dish from Bolivia.  The conversations we have had have been priceless.  Their enthusiasm for the gospel and their faith has given me new strength.  Their gratitude to me for having served a mission has filled my soul and any doubt I have harbored about whether I did any good seems to be calmed.  It feels like what heaven may be like when we meet people we have influenced but had no idea that our example or smile or love or whatever could have had such an impact.  

Arminda and Demetrio have incredible faith.  They spend much of the time we were together testifying to us of how the gospel has changed their lives and how they have been blessed with miracle after miracle.  I could write a book and fill it up just with the stories they told over the past two weeks.  But here are a few to give you an idea. They shared Demetrio's conversion story, how after 12 years of investigating, he finally felt he had a confirmation of the truth.  They talked about their four kids and how they are all active and the three married kids are all married in the temple and active in the church and their grandchildren born in the covenant.  Demetrio was recently released as bishop of their ward where he sent off 16 missionaries and grew their ward from 100 to 250 people attending each week.  He told me about many miracles he saw as a bishop like the time when the Relief Society had asked him to speak to them in the temple chapel and the spirit insisted he talk to them about food storage.  They were incredulous that he would give them a talk in the temple about food storage.  A month later, COVID hit and these people, who go to the market every day, were confined to their homes.  A sister later testified how following his admonition had saved her life.  They told me story after story about illnesses, hospitalizations, accidents, pregnancies--each of which they came through thanks to priesthood blessings and faith.  Everything in their lives they frame as a miracle.  Even finding me.

While I certainly agree that our finding each other again was a miracle, I felt uncomfortable with the credit given to me....I didn't do anything special.  Surely it was the spirit that converted them. Even though they claim they would be lost if Hagland and I hadn't knocked on their door, I feel sure that somehow they would have found the gospel.  But at the same time, they are right that no one can hear about the gospel unless we share it.  

I am so grateful that they found me twenty years later and I have kept to the promise that I made in my testimony as I left my mission--that I would not fall away, that I would stay faithful through my life.  Hermana Hagland is also still very active in the church and even though she lives in Las Vegas and couldn't come to see the Cespedeses, our Facetime reunion was very sweet. 

Here are a few lessons from this experience:

The seeds of faith we sow will be for good, even if we don't see the fruits right away.

Serving a mission will start a ripple effect for good--even if it feels like all you've thrown in the pond is a small pebble.

Faithful people recognize God's hand in everything.

Like Alma and the son's of Mosiah, there is so much joy in reuniting with a mission companion and people you've taught when you are "still [their] brethren in the Lord."

I should have kept up my Spanish skills better through the years. 

Education is the key to lifting the Bolivians (and all of God's children) out of poverty. (That is from our trip to BYUI....this is a lesson for another story.)

The blessings of a mission just keep on giving.

    

Companions: How to loosen up a bit

One of the most challenging and rewarding parts of my mission were the relationships I had with my companions.  I loved my companions, but I would say that for the most part, none of my companions quite matched my level of energy with maybe one exception.  Some were pretty close, but for me that was the hardest of all the problems.  It was amazing how much a companion could influence how much money I had on my card or how many calories I consumed or how many miles I walked in a day.  

I thought most of my companions were challenging in some way and then I go assigned to Hermana Jarvis.  She was a whole other category of mission companions.  On one hand, she was hilarious.  I couldn't help but love her outgoing, loud and stand-up comic-esque personality.  She was a lot of fun--unless you wanted to be serious about missionary work.  She had a tendency to be sick or need to go see doctors or have a migraine or any number of ailments when I would rather be working.  She was convinced that she would find her future husband on her missionary and was always flirting with the elders we worked with.

It is funny how at the time I was with my companions, I felt like it would never end.  But then eventually it did.  And looking at it in the past, the experience was almost totally positive.  With Jarvis, I remember how we laughed at the crazy man that would yell at us from behind bars on our walking route.  I remember when she was accusing a man in English (thinking he only spoke Spanish) of taking the ice cream bar she wanted at the store when he started talking in perfect English.  I remember our pact to be at each other's weddings and how she was leading the singing in sacrament meeting for "Away in a Manger" and she was belting out the written melody but the congregation was singing the version from the primary songbook.   

She wanted to come to my wedding with "Bob" as we lovingly referred to Rob.  She came and stayed with me the weekend before our wedding and was our "chaperone," a weekend Rob will not ever forget.  

In the title, I said she taught me to loosen up.  Most people who know me well would argue that probably didn't actually happen.  But believe it or not, she did help me loosen up.  I had been so uptight about spending every single second of my mission doing what I should and working hard but with Jarvis that just wasn't possible.  I found I needed to really focus on loving her and doing my best with what I could.   She was my second to last companion and I trained my last companion.  I was a totally different missionary by that time than when I started.  I had learned that people are more important than being perfect or being right or turning in the best numbers.   

The purpose of fasting

In my first area, we had an investigator that was so sincere and so interested in the gospel, but also afraid to convert.  His name was Caesar La Peña.  He was 16 years old at the time we were teaching him.  He had a sister who was a bit older than him and they lived with their parents who loved us and listened at times, but were not as interested as he was.  

He had decided to get baptized and his family was considering it as well. They needed to come to church before any of that could be a reality and so week after week, we prayed and hoped and worked to get them to church.  One week we decided to fast for them to come to church--we knew he was sincere but that he would never be able to convert if he didn't feel comfortable at church.  

This was one of the most sincere fasts of my whole life up to that point.   I felt sure he would be ready when we showed up at his doorstep to walk him to church on Sunday.   

Sadly, he was nowhere to be found when we got to his house.  The whole family was gone--we figured it was on purpose to avoid us.  I felt so disappointed.  After church, I prayed and asked God why this would happen.  We had prayed so hard and fasted so sincerely.   I immediately felt a peace come over me and suddenly I understood that I could not change the agency of another with my fast.  My fast could only bring me closer in alignment to God's will or give me a better understanding of it.  

Since that realization, I have also come to understand that perhaps a sincere fast can change God's will.  I have seen miracles with Alisa's treatment and seen fasts help bring down rain in our droughts.  But still the concept that we cannot pray someone's agency away remains in what I learned that day.

That day was crucial in my faith, and we did not give up on Caesar.  Eventually he did come to church.  He was baptized and a month later, he baptized his sister, Rosario.  They lived in Tarija and so imagine my delight when a year later, I saw him at the Cochabamba temple open house (or was it the dedication?).   He continued in the faith.  Later in 2004, I got a letter from him (communication from any of my Bolivian friends has been sparse--they don't have mailing addresses, they didn't have phones at the time I was there, nor did most have any sort of email or social media--so many people are lost).  In his letter, he told me that he served a mission in Peru and Rosario had served one in Chile.  Both of their parents had been baptized and their whole family had been sealed in the temple a few short months before his father passed away.  I am friends with him on Facebook and from all I can tell he remains true to the gospel.

Having that perspective now, I wonder why I was so sad about that one day that he didn't come to church?  Whatever the reason, I know that the lesson I learned that day about fasting has served me well and I continue to pray that whatever God's will is, I will be better at understanding and following it.

Going to church is worth the sacrifice

 As we struggle through a pandemic and countless zoom meetings and as I've studied Moroni 6, I've been thinking about church and why we come.  Which reminded me of a man I taught on my mission.

I was serving in Sucre and half our ward was Quechua speaking.  Everyone would meet together for sacrament meeting and then afterward would split into a Quechua and Spanish Sunday School class and then their own language's Elder's Quorums and Relief Societies.  I didn't speak much Quechua (I could give a simple greeting and understand it at times) and none of the missionaries were Quechua speaking so we would bring members to translate for us if we taught anyone who spoke only Quechua.  

Most of the Quechua members lived far away from the meetinghouse.  Some would travel almost an hour to come to church.   One day a man showed up to church by himself.   Someone asked him if he'd like to hear the discussions.  The zone leaders happened to be at church that day and they taught him all six discussions right then and there.  The next week he was baptized.

This sort of thing was rare but not unheard of.  What was remarkable was that he continued to come to church each week without fail.  He paid his tithing faithfully and remained active the entire 6 months I was in Sucre.  I can't remember his name but I will never forget his faith.  Although he walked into the building knowing nobody, he did assimilate into the ward and became truly a member of the congregation and we watched him prosper and try to convert his family.

I think about him when I think that going to church sounds hard.  He had to travel.  He came alone.  He spent over half his day on a Sunday in travel or in church.  I couldn't communicate well with him, but I would love to know his story.

I do know that I've been blessed for going to church.  It isn't always easy and I often think of something I once heard--"If you quit the church you'll get an extra vacation day and a 10% raise."  But in truth it doesn't work like that.  The blessings I get from going to church and staying close to God and the wonderful people that worship with us are immeasurable.  I know that what I pay in tithing is returned back to me more than I can ever know.  And when I am full of doubt or despair or frustration, coming to church and feeling the spirit is exactly what I need.  Going to church has kept me on the path that will lead me back to God.  

Teach a man to fish...

As Addie struggled to accompany us through our hymn on the piano today, I thought that maybe Steven should be playing, and then I was struck today with a vivid memory of a class I took in the MTC.  I was called as a welfare missionary in Bolivia.  That meant that for three weeks of my MTC experience, I was in classes with other welfare missionaries, learning some important principles that we could use as we worked with the leadership in the wards and branches we served in and learn about ways to lift the people we served out of poverty.

We talked about the quote, "Teach a man to fish, feed him for a lifetime."  They added, "Teach him to teach a man to fish, feed a generation."  The focus was always to teach the people self sufficiency, in all aspects of their lives.

The only way for someone to learn something is for them to do it themselves.  The example that was given was playing the piano.  The teachers pointed out that many times a missionary who goes to a backwards place, can play the piano well and the ward comes to rely on the missionaries to play the piano at each meeting.  Ideally, we should teach the people how to play the piano and let them do it, even if the playing isn't perfect.  This is the same for lessons in church and leadership roles--the best leaders let others have the spotlight.  Never should a Relief Society president be playing the opening hymn, giving the announcements, saying the opening prayer and teaching the lesson all in one week.   And for sure, a missionary shouldn't be taking over the Relief Society president's job either.  A good leader will delegate things--not because they are lazy--but because they know that through service, people grow and come closer to each other and God.

And that was my thought today as we sang the hymn in our home sacrament meeting today.  This was a critical principal that I tried to use throughout my mission and in every lesson I taught.  The more the investigator shared or spoke or read scriptures aloud, the more engaged they were in the lesson.  The same principle applies now as I am a mom.  It is hard to remember sometimes--I have to be careful not to focus on perfection.  Learning is about doing and the more people get to do, the better for them.

If you think about it, that is Heavenly Father's way.  He lets us fumble through this life, making mistakes, learning with each of them.  There is no way that we will become perfect in this life, but certainly it is through moving forward that we grow, especially when things are hard. I also know that he will consecrate our imperfect service and through His grace, it will be enough.

How to unclog a toilet without a plunger

Even though I had been to three years of college and lived away from home all that time, my mission was where I learned leaps and bounds about real life and how to problem solve.  Case in point--clogged toilets.

First, let me give you a crash course in Bolivian plumbing (or lack thereof).  I just did a google search and in the 1999 census, just over 70 percent of Bolvians had indoor running water, though in rural areas about 2/3 of the homes have no plumbing whatsover.   In fact, we were once visiting members in a rural area (about a 30 minute bus ride up the mountain) and I asked if I could use their bathroom.  They showed me to the hill on the side of their subdivision that overlooked the city.  It was covered in human poop and that was where I was to pee.  In case you are wondering, I really had to go, so I did as the cholitas do and squatted with my skirt keeping me covered!  I know, TMI.  Anyway, that was a one time experience, but we were often in homes where the toilet was outside--shared with other tenants and with no water running to it.  (Side note--toilet paper was often newsprint cut into squares.)  Toilet seats in situations like these were rare--it was just a bowl--even without a tank (because if you don't have running water, you don't need a tank.)  So to flush, you would take a bucket and fill it with water from a giant barrel next to it and then pour directly into the toilet to flush. 

Which leads me to this handy tip I learned through countless manual flushes on my mission--a great way to unclog a toilet is to pour a bucket of water quickly down the pipes.  This is my favorite way to unclog a toilet.  Use a bathroom wastebasket in a pinch if you don't have a bucket.  Fill it with water from the bathtub--you need as much as you can get.  And then pour it as fast as you can down the offending drain.  The force will usually do the trick on the first go round.  Repeat until you can tell the clog is gone.  If water is refusing to go down at all--then abort the mission as soon as it looks like things are about to overflow.  I've never had that happen, but I suppose it's possible.   Just be bold--try to dump it all at once.

There you go...next time you are in a bind, think of me and also be grateful you have pipes at all.

Make sure you have baptismal clothes for your baptism

Our first baptism on my mission was very memorable.  His name was Eusabio and he was a young adult nephew of our bishop who was living with the bishop at the time.  His baptism was set to happen in conjunction with the ward picnic/outing in the mountains to celebrate 'Carnival.'  So my companion and I rode up the mountainside in the back of a rented dump truck along with lots of other members of the ward.  We arrived and the ward started to set up camp.  Some of the women were selling popcorn and jello and the men started playing soccer instead of tending to the barbeque they were in charge of.  So the women stepped in.

Due to some miscommunication, the bishop didn't have his white clothes to perform the baptism.  This felt like a major oversight, but luckily the Bolivians are problem solvers, so he came up with a plan.  He would baptize Eusabio in "doble garment," in other words, he would double up his garments for the baptism.  I was pretty sure non-white clothes would be preferable to underwear, but no one believed me, and frankly, now I am doubting myself.

At any rate, the bishop changed, wrapped a towel around his waist and as he slowly entered the water, he gradually lifted the towel, so that he could be covered until he was submerged. He used a similar method to exit.

Despite the wardrobe troubles, the waterfighting, and the popcorn sales, the spirit was certainly there at Eusabio's baptism and I'm so glad I was there to witness it.  I can never forget it.

When you get to the MTC, if someone asks where you're going, the answer is not "the cafeteria"

We had some fun times in the MTC.   On the first day, I learned that when someone asks, "Where are you going?" the answer is not, "the cafeteria" but "Bolivia."  I had lots of surprises on my mission, but the MTC was definitely one of them.  I didn't really know what to expect.

We had some funny elders in my district.  Elder Trover was a big guy who love to draw and draw all sorts of fun comics for us.  His companion was Elder Lentz who was Asian American and could keep a straight face like no one I've met before or since.  Occasionally Elder Lentz would pretend he had Parkinson's disease and his eyes would glaze over and he would ignore us and shake his head a little.  It was a bit on on the immature side, but it was still amazing how he could keep a straight face no matter what we did.  One time he took it way too far--we were in the cafeteria and he started his Parkinson's bit.  We did the usual things to play along and then try to make him snap out of it and he wouldn't do it.  Some other sister missionaries were completely worried about him and angry at us for not taking the situation more seriously.  We reassured them it was a game but they didn't believe and insisted we take him to the medical people.  They were convinced that he had had a mental breakdown.  The more they insisted the funnier it all became and the more determined Elder Lentz was to make a liar of us and so he persisted.  I don't remember if we took him to the doctors or what happened.  I know he didn't snap out of it until those sisters were long gone.  I think Elder Trover carried him out of the cafeteria at some point.  We had a lot of fun with those Elders.  And the crazy thing is that I barely remember their faces and names now.  We all went to different Spanish speaking missions.

Bolivia: Step two in abandoning materialism

The morning I left for the MTC, my dad gave me a father's blessing.  He had once heard an apostle suggest that once in your child's life, you should give a special blessing, record it, and transcribe it--much like a patriarchal blessing.

A week or so after I arrived at the MTC, he sent me the copy of this beautiful blessing.  It has been so helpful to me through the years--especially as I make major life decisions or need some encouragement. 

One paragraph says this, "I bless you as you leave on your mission.  You have a great opportunity in front of you and a blessing that many don't get.  You have a chance to preach the gospel and to work with humble people and help them.  As you go into the mission field, I bless you with the gift of language so that you'll love the language and learn it as well as you can because it will be a great tool for you during your mission and also afterward.  I bless you that you can feel the true joy of service.  As you serve in the mission field and are open to the the things of the Spirit, write down lessons you learn and promptings you feel so that you can recall these things later in your life and they will be a guide to you.  I bless you that your chance to work among the poor and the humble people will serve as a way to inoculate you against the disease of materialism that we have in our country.  If you can find a way after you return from your mission to remember the feelings you had in Bolivia, it will be a great blessing in your life.  You will learn about needs and wants and what's really important in life and how happiness truly comes.  As you get back from your mission and you have your own family, if you can recall and put these principles into practice, you won't be swayed by the world.  I bless you that you can help your companions and that you will be a blessing to your mission president and that you can be obedient.  I bless you that this experience will be a powerful help to you through the rest of your life."

Looking back at this blessing, I feel certain that the blessings were fulfilled.  

The blessing that strikes me the most is the one concerning materialism.  Nothing in my life could have prepared me for what I found in Bolivia.  Large families would often live in one room homes made of mud bricks with corrugated metal for roofs.  Sometimes the walls would plastered on the insides and painted over, but sometimes not.  Most people had no refrigeration, so they would go to the market each day.  Many had no running water inside their homes, or indoor plumbing.  Sometimes they would share a common bathroom with their neighbors.  If a person owned a car, he was a taxi driver.  Most used buses to get around (though a taxi ride cost about 5 Bolivianos which equaled about $1).  People worked hard and did their best.   Some were better off than others, but very few people I ever worked with in a ward or in a neighborhood were overly concerned with having the best and finest things.  They were grateful for what they did have.

These people were happy too.  They were friends with their neighbors and relied on one another.  They lent each other money freely, though they had very little.  They were generous as they shared their best with us.  The members dressed in their best to come to church, despite their small means.  I was so impressed with them.

The lesson I think I learned the most was that you don't need money to make you happy.  Living a righteous life is what leads to happiness, not what we acquire.  

This is a lesson I think of often.  Despite my dad's blessing, materialism has been hard to avoid.  I have done small things and large with the background of my mission in mind.  For example, when Rob proposed, I told him I didn't want a diamond ring.  He got one anyway, but I made him take it back.  

We have (so far) always chosen apartments and homes that are close to school and work, even when the newer places further away seem tempting.  We have prioritized time with our family over having a nicer home.

Also, up to this point, I haven't worked outside the home.  My priority has been my family and serving others.  Luckily that has been possible for us financially, but it has come at some sacrifice.  I often have to go without nice things in order to make our budget work. 

Our cars so far have never been fancy.  This is part of the sacrifice of living on one income, but I think it is one of my biggest reminders of what is important to me--I think of it every time I look at the peeling paint on my van or am embarrassed to drive it around.  

One way I have been keeping the memory fresh lately is by volunteering with refugees, mainly from Africa.  When I am around them, I can't help but see that same joy in these people's lives--gratitude for what they do have and a strong sense of community and belonging.  They are blown away by the fact that I don't work--they think I am so rich.  And really, I really am.  I live on the east side of Salt Lake City and have a rich education and a delightful family.  I have everything I need and even many things I want.  How can I feel bad that my car is 15 years old and my basement is in disrepair?  I mean--I have a car!  I have a basement!  

Not a day goes by I don't think of Bolivia.  I loved the people and the culture.  I have often considered moving back (Rob is not on board).  I will forever be grateful for the example they set for me of gratitude and happiness.  

Guillermo: Step one in abandoning materialism

Tonight I said goodbye to my nephew, James Linton, who is leaving this week for his mission in Perth, Australia.  It was harder than I thought to say goodbye.  Somehow it marks the end of an era for him and my boys.  Watching boys grow up is wonderful and sad at the same time.

But as he leaves, my mind is filled with memories.  The one I want to share today is about my suitcase.  This is from something a wrote in 2009.

One story that needs telling is about my mission luggage. After I got my mission call to Bolivia, we starting talking supplies. Dad was adamant that I buy a suitcase from the D.I. He said something like, "You are going to a developing country. Think of how bad those Bolivians will feel if some rich American comes to their country toting expensive luggage? They will either avoid you or try to rob you, either way you'll do better with something used. Besides, it will cost less." 

Maybe I should have listened to the materialistic knot in my stomach and bought some good luggage, but I've never been very good at going against my dad's advice. So we went to the DI and picked up a brown, hard-sided deal that was vintage 1974. After we brought it home, we found that the locks weren't perfectly functioning and in the end, we had to rely on a luggage strap to keep my belongings from being strewn across the MTC hallway. (Uncle Brad also generously gave me some soft sided Lands End duffles--but none of this luggage had wheels.)

You can imagine how I stood out at the MTC. When the fam dropped me off, Dad took more pictures of the suitcase than of me, I think. I'm glad I could make him proud in some way--his first missionary child and her suitcase were the same age. My MTC companion named it "Guillermo" and so it became. 



As I packed up for the big flight to Bolivia, I took out my spare duct tape to reinforce the efforts of the luggage strap (much more was at stake at that point). Guillermo and I arrived in our new country only a little shaken and started our adventures in a foreign land. Luckily I led a pretty stable mission life--I only had two transfers. Each time, I loaded up the suitcase and wrapped it snugly with duct tape. Carrying it was never fun, but I usually had someone to help. Each time I left things behind and brought on new treasures until finally it was time to go home. I left as many dresses and shoes as I could and filled my luggage with various mementos I'd gathered along the way.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe I was the only one with poorly functioning luggage for my mission. I know Mark got a sweet piece of luggage for Christmas. I don't tell you this story to make you feel sorry for me (although maybe you should), but because it is a fun memory of Dad. I never looked at the suitcase without thinking of him and feeling his great support of me on my mission and his stand against materialism. 

In the same spirit of the suitcase, Dad helped Rob and I find the first car we bought together: a 1989 Oldsmobile Delta 88. We were headed to Ohio and needed the ultimate wheeled luggage--a huge grandpa car to fit as many belongings as possible. Since it only had 45,000 miles on it, it would be reliable for a long time and cheap. We drove it for five years and even named it "Guillermo."

Music has the power to change you

I got my mission call in September (or was it late August?) of 1998.  I was to enter the MTC in November.  During that time, I stayed home and worked, trying to earn as much money as I could in a few short months.  I had spent a few summers working as a data entry clerk at a small company in Holladay.  The people were nice and I had learned to type quickly, so I could earn decent money.  It was extremely boring, however.   I would listen to talk radio as I typed and spent many hours listening to Dr. Laura and Rush Limbaugh.

As my mission approached, a thought entered my mind that frightened me.  It is too personal to share, but I started to obsess about it and it became very difficult for me.  I tried praying and I stopped listening to talk radio and listening to church and classical music instead.  I read my scriptures and attended mission prep.  I went to the temple.  I did everything I could think of to rid my mind of this obsessive thought.

I wasn't worried about if I was worthy to serve a mission, but I did feel like this would be a big distraction.  I went forward with my mission prep and things certainly got better with the thoughts, but sometimes they would still come back.

I said goodbye to my family and entered the MTC.  Even in the MTC where I was surrounded by goodness and spirit, sometimes the thought would creep in and I felt like it was Satan trying to veer me off of my path.

The MTC had some good times--but perhaps the most memorable moment for me was when I eradicated this obsession forever (or at least until now, 20 years later.)  I had joined the MTC choir and we were singing for a devotional with Elder Holland.  It was a lovely talk he gave--I remember he testified of the Savior and told us how as disciples of Christ, we are following in his footsteps and our path would not be easy.  I felt the spirit testify of Christ and His love for us.   At the close of the song, the choir sang "I Believe in Christ," and when we got to the verse that says, "from Satan's grasp, He sets me free," the spirit washed over me and I felt so strongly that Christ was my answer and I could be free from these thoughts.

And it was true!  It went away.  It has never bothered me since.  I literally felt Christ's power free me from Satan's grasp.

It may seem a small thing, but it was huge for me.  It taught me a few things.  First of all, I learned that sometimes our prayers aren't answered instantly.  And that is good.  We often have to work for our answers.  Also, I learned about the power of music--never before or since have I been so completely transformed by music.  I love this hymn and every time I sing it I remember the power it had over me.  And I learned about the power of the Spirit and of Christ to heal our minds and hearts.

It was the first of many miracles I would witness on my mission.

Sometimes answers come after we act

Whether or not I should serve a mission felt like the biggest question of my life and no matter how hard I prayed and fasted, I couldn't seem to find the answer.

I wanted to serve a mission--I felt a pressing desire to share the love and joy I had found in the gospel with others--it felt like the only way I could even start to express gratitude to my Heavenly Father for the goodness that had filled my life.  But I was worried that if I served a mission, I would never get married.  Mostly I was worried that I would miss my chance to date Robert Blodgett--my crush of 4 years. 

Rob and I had been on dates whenever we were in town together since we graduated from high school.  But I had gone to Ricks College in Idaho, and he was at the U and then later on a mission in Mexico.  So while we wrote back and forth fairly regularly, we hadn't really had a chance to date.

He arrived home from his mission within days of my 21st birthday.   Coincidentally, I was in Mexico when he got home and on my 21st birthday.  While there, I stayed with a darling family and went to church with them and felt more than ever that I wanted to be able to teach others about the gospel.  When I got home, Rob and I went on a date.  It was long and nice and we talked a lot.  I told him that I wanted to serve a mission but admitted that I also wanted to date him.

He agreed that we could try dating and he would call me the next week.  But he didn't call.  In the meantime, I had been working on my papers.  I only had a bishop and Stake President's interview to complete.  As I waited for his call, I agonized about what to do.  I made appointments and went forward.

I felt good about a mission throughout, but there was an ounce of doubt.  I met with my bishop.  And then I met with my stake president.  As I finished that interview, the spirit washed over me and I just knew that going on a mission was the right thing.

That conviction helped me many times in the following months.  It helped me when a few weeks later Rob called and asked me out.  I was so excited to share with him that I had gotten my call to Bolivia-- it came in a week and a half!  (He admitted later that he thought I was lying and had turned in my papers before we ever went out and had a heart to heart about the decision.)  And it helped me through hard times on my mission too.

I left thinking that I had chosen a mission over Rob.  At the time I didn't even dare hope that I could have both.  I am so amazed I got them both!  They are the two single best decisions I have ever made.  And with each one I agonized if it was the right decision.  It wasn't until I acted upon them and went forward that my prayers were answered.  With each one, I am still receiving blessings and spiritual confirmations that I chose the right!

So the first lesson of my mission was--when in doubt, act!  If you are doing something terribly wrong, you will know.  Sometimes there are many right ways and it is your choice.  I often wonder what would have happened had I stayed home.  I'm sure it would have been good as well.  But oh I'm glad I went!

Forward

I have several reasons for doing this blog, the main one being a way to collect some of the stories from my mission to share with my nephews, nieces and my kids as they serve missions.  It came to me as a way I could help my sister's boys as they serve without her there to write them every week.  She wrote me regularly--sometimes weekly--and those letters are a treasure now that she is gone.  I want to do something for her now.  

And when I was on a mission, blogs weren't around.  I want to digitize some of my stories and easily print them in a book when I'm done.  I know that my perspective is different now with over 15 years of time and distance between these memories.  But these things I learned stuck with me and changed me.  So this is a different perspective than from my journals and letters--but it is perspective that comes with 15 years of living as an adult and growing my testimony and applying these principals.  

I served in the Cochabamba Bolivia Mission for the LDS church from November 1998 to May of 2000.  Deciding to go was difficult, and conditions at times were difficult, but I look back at it as one of the best decisions I ever made and as 18 months that would shape and change my life forever for the good.  I always loved my dad's mission stories and  I hope that these stories can inspire, uplift and teach my family in a similar way my dad's did for me.