June 10, 2010
Called to serve: a sister’s perspective
My younger sister, Jenny, just got her mission call. Donetsk, Ukraine. Population: 988,000. Average temperature in January: 23 °F. Number of boots required: 4. And I thought I had faith braving one winter in New York!
I’m happy for her. And nervous. I know how she’s feeling–excited, like she’s going to conquer the world armed only with a black name tag and a copy of the Book of Mormon. Maybe a little scared (the unknown is always scary). But mostly she’s feeling secure that the Lord (and our parents’ prayers) will protect her. She knows she is doing the right thing.
All of this is making me remember receiving my own mission call… and the journey that took me there. Growing up in the Church, I knew about missions and mission calls. I knew young men serve when they are 19; girls can serve at 21. I knew mission calls (assignments) were done by the prophet by inspiration–you are literally called of God to labor in a certain area of the world. I knew missions were both difficult and rewarding. I also knew that I had NO desire to serve a mission and give up the life I knew. I was nineteen years old studying English literature at Brigham Young University, and the world was at my fingertips.
And then that world fell apart my sophomore year. It was a lot of little things that I won’t waste gigabytes writing about here, but it involved a boy and some friends and a lot of loneliness. I can tell you I was unhappy. Days dragged into months until I found myself sobbing in an empty classroom, just pleading with Heavenly Father to take away my heartache. That didn’t happen. Instead, I felt wrapped in peace as tangible as a best friend’s hug. I felt I would one day understand my trials. I left that classroom with a lot of questions unanswered, but I knew Heavenly Father was aware of me.
Fast forward a few months, and I once again found myself in a classroom, this one full of students taking a summer religion course in California. The scene was different, but the question still the same: What was I supposed to do with my life? As I weighed my options, I thought, “I should pray about this.”
Don’t let the skeptics fool you into saying prayer is for the weak–it takes courage to pray, because you never know what Heavenly Father has in mind for you. In the past, I had lacked both faith and courage; I liked being in charge of my own destiny. Now, finally humble enough to admit that my plans had taken me nowhere, I was ready to ask what Heavenly Father thought I should do.
Right there in the middle of that crowded classroom, I bowed my head, said a silent prayer and immediately felt, “Mission.” It wasn’t a voice in my head or anything, just a strong thought that I couldn’t deny–like I’d always known it somehow. My next question was, “When? The answer was certain: “Now.”
I think this is the part where I talk about how happy I was to finally have direction in my life, but in reality I had a mild panic attack, freaked out for a few days, prayed some more … and then got really excited. In some ways, I felt like Joseph Smith did after the First Vision: “I had seen a vision [or received an answer]; I knew it, and I knew that God knew it, and I could not deny it” (Joseph Smith History 1: 25). And so I filled out my mission papers, waited a few months for my twenty-first birthday, and then received my mission call to labor in the New York Rochester Mission with a special assignment to serve at the Hill Cumorah Visitors’ Center where this all began.
That was sixteen months ago. A lot has happened in that time, and I can’t wait for my sister to have these same experiences. I know at times she’ll be cold and rejected. I also know that the fire of testimony will keep her warm when hope runs low. This work is true. The Savior lives, and I’m privileged to wear His name on my lapel.
