Week 5: Chocolate and Hearts
Dear Loved Ones,
One day when I was a sophomore in college, I knelt on my bedroom floor praying and sobbing. It was February, a little after Valentine's day and a little after the anniversary of the day I got barred from going on a mission (Feb 10, 2016). I prayed for God to help me out, send me some comfort, get me on a mission, give me a friend I could talk to.
A knock sounded on my door. I was the only one of my roommates home, so I answered it, and there were two missionaries at the door. I invited them in and told them my situation. I told them my story. If they spoke any words of comfort or said anything useful, I don't remember it. I don't remember them helping, just asking if I had any non-member friends they could teach and giving me a pass-a-long card with their number. And I remember that I gave them chocolate, though, because it was Valentine's and my parents had sent me a fancy box of them. I was already a member, so they moved along with their day.
This week, my companion and I dropped in on a member family. She likes to give them one of our origami hearts and chocolate. It just so happened that on the day we came by, a teenage girl in that family had come home from school, devastated because she had been cut from an audition. We gave her a heart and chocolate, hugged her, and spoke words of comfort to her.
As I left, I realized I'd helped do the reverse of what those sister missionaries did when they dropped by my apartment two years ago. This Sunday will be the three year anniversary of when I was barred from serving, and finally, I am here.
I went tracting while on exchanges this week. Nothing was happening and I started mentally writing an email to my brother, who is a missionary in Chicago and complains about tracting, about how tracting is a waste of time. I crunched some numbers and figured tracting in that area has a 3/1,080 success rate.
Then a young mother with a baby answered the door. Before we had talked to her for ten seconds, she was all, "Hey, I just got out of prison and I'm looking into religion so I can turn my life around, where is your church?"
That was a little miracle! First, we had to be in the right time and place to catch her when she was no longer in prison. Then she had to be the one to answer the door. Given her situation and the niceness of the neighborhood, I assume she isn't the homeowner. And she had a baby in her arms, so it was luck that the baby wasn't napping and we weren't making a nuisance of ourselves by making noise at the door. All those things had to combine to make it possible for us to talk to her.
She took a Book of Mormon. Too bad she's not in my area and I don't get to teach her. The sister I was taking the place of for the day was stunned when I told her I'd had a success and she had a return appointment set up for Tuesday.
I'm loving so many things about being a missionary. I am finally here and happy after three long years of heartache and waiting.
I'm going to start this end segment of every email where I give a tip to decrease mission-centricness in church culture. This week's tip: If someone tells you they have a sibling or relative living out of state, don't automatically ask, "Is he on a mission?" My brother went to college in California and I got that question for years.
"How many brothers and sisters do you have?"
"Three younger brothers, and one who's older. He's in California right now."
"Oh, is he on a mission?"
And then he studied in China for a while and I got the same question. Um, no, there are no missionaries in China. It baffles me that adult church members would assume that. Even as a fifteen year old, I knew there were no missionaries in China.
Love you, miss you, and I appreciate it when I can hear from you.
Sincerely,
Sister Smith
One day when I was a sophomore in college, I knelt on my bedroom floor praying and sobbing. It was February, a little after Valentine's day and a little after the anniversary of the day I got barred from going on a mission (Feb 10, 2016). I prayed for God to help me out, send me some comfort, get me on a mission, give me a friend I could talk to.
A knock sounded on my door. I was the only one of my roommates home, so I answered it, and there were two missionaries at the door. I invited them in and told them my situation. I told them my story. If they spoke any words of comfort or said anything useful, I don't remember it. I don't remember them helping, just asking if I had any non-member friends they could teach and giving me a pass-a-long card with their number. And I remember that I gave them chocolate, though, because it was Valentine's and my parents had sent me a fancy box of them. I was already a member, so they moved along with their day.
This week, my companion and I dropped in on a member family. She likes to give them one of our origami hearts and chocolate. It just so happened that on the day we came by, a teenage girl in that family had come home from school, devastated because she had been cut from an audition. We gave her a heart and chocolate, hugged her, and spoke words of comfort to her.
As I left, I realized I'd helped do the reverse of what those sister missionaries did when they dropped by my apartment two years ago. This Sunday will be the three year anniversary of when I was barred from serving, and finally, I am here.
I went tracting while on exchanges this week. Nothing was happening and I started mentally writing an email to my brother, who is a missionary in Chicago and complains about tracting, about how tracting is a waste of time. I crunched some numbers and figured tracting in that area has a 3/1,080 success rate.
Then a young mother with a baby answered the door. Before we had talked to her for ten seconds, she was all, "Hey, I just got out of prison and I'm looking into religion so I can turn my life around, where is your church?"
That was a little miracle! First, we had to be in the right time and place to catch her when she was no longer in prison. Then she had to be the one to answer the door. Given her situation and the niceness of the neighborhood, I assume she isn't the homeowner. And she had a baby in her arms, so it was luck that the baby wasn't napping and we weren't making a nuisance of ourselves by making noise at the door. All those things had to combine to make it possible for us to talk to her.
She took a Book of Mormon. Too bad she's not in my area and I don't get to teach her. The sister I was taking the place of for the day was stunned when I told her I'd had a success and she had a return appointment set up for Tuesday.
I'm loving so many things about being a missionary. I am finally here and happy after three long years of heartache and waiting.
I'm going to start this end segment of every email where I give a tip to decrease mission-centricness in church culture. This week's tip: If someone tells you they have a sibling or relative living out of state, don't automatically ask, "Is he on a mission?" My brother went to college in California and I got that question for years.
"How many brothers and sisters do you have?"
"Three younger brothers, and one who's older. He's in California right now."
"Oh, is he on a mission?"
And then he studied in China for a while and I got the same question. Um, no, there are no missionaries in China. It baffles me that adult church members would assume that. Even as a fifteen year old, I knew there were no missionaries in China.
Love you, miss you, and I appreciate it when I can hear from you.
Sincerely,
Sister Smith
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