Despised and Rejected

Like Hugh B. Brown, I'm going to be brief in this post.

The world may not be any worse than it was when this Conference was held. I don't know. But I do know that people don't like religion much these days. It's well enough if you believe in a tame religion, something that means little more than trying to be a good person and never, ever foisting those beliefs onto someone else. But if you truly feel that your religion is something worth admitting, sharing, and even suggesting to another person, you are the vilest of people.

I've seen that opinion of the religious shared in multiple venues by multiple people. I daresay it would be a majority of Americans who feel that way.

Lost People

It surprises me that in my ward, I teach teenagers. It surprised me even more that, after coming into the classroom to hear her daughter teach, one mother told me, "you are just what these girls need."

I do not feel like I'm just what these girls need. I am not a good example of the efficacy of the things I was taught as a teenager. I waited for a temple wedding, only to have it fall down around my ears. I'm a single working mother with little hope and no expectation of marrying again, in small part because I will not marry outside the temple.

Based on my reading of scripture, both public and private, I have thoroughly failed to do what the Lord asked of me. There is little left. But I intend to do my best at what little there is. At least I'll die trying. I'm too German to give up in the face of failure.

There are two things I have been called to do which still may have some application to my life. I have been told to be a mother and to be a teacher. So when I listened to Paul H. Dunn's decades-old talk, (nearly fifty years old!) I knew what I needed to write about.

Behold Your Little Ones

When I was a young teenager, I sat on the ground at the edge of a large pavilion. It was dark, and I was surrounded by other girls and women. It was Young Women's Camp, and it had been pouring rain for three days.

We had an old, military-issue canvas tent, the type which leaked water if you touched the sides. We were soaked, our food was cold because we could not keep a fire, even under shelter. The wind had blown down some of the tents, and two of the wards had gone home. When the leaders of our ward had asked us, my two best friends and I wanted to stay, and we convinced the two other girls to agree. Which is why, clutching flashlights and huddled together, I was among those who were left under a tent which, for the first time since we had pitched our tents, did not patter with raindrops.

I loved it. The air was scented with Austrian white pine and rain. We had seen enough sunshine to dry out a rainwashed set of clothing. We had carefully started a fire, gathered around the tent, and prayed. One at a time, people got up to bear their testimony of the Savior. One of the younger leaders, a girl who seemed at the time to be so old, had just returned from her mission. There was nothing unique about her testimony except that, as I sat there, I was suddenly overcome with the knowledge that I, too, wanted to serve a mission.

Years of change followed. I decided I wanted to change my life around, clean up my language and my thoughts, be a better person. I went to college and prepared to serve a mission. Many things happened in those years, but eight years later, I opened up my mission papers. Six weeks after that, I stepped off a plane onto German soil.

What it Means to Repent in the Face of Excommunication

I have never been called before a disciplinary council. But on my mission, I experienced something similar. Near the end of my mission, my mission president was released and a new one was called. My first mission president had incredible perception by the Spirit. He allowed me to be the kind of missionary I was drawn to be, even though it caused considerable upheaval and confusion among the ranks of the elders called to lead me in my work.

I remember going to interviews with him, which happened once every six weeks, nervous that I was going to be called on the carpet for the disagreements about how to conduct missionary work I had been having with my leaders. Every new set of leaders in every place I was moved (and it was frequent, at the beginning of my mission) was a new battle. They were called to report numbers of baptisms and lessons taught. I was inclined more to concentrating on the people I came in contact with, feeling strongly that counting numbers was not going to be effective in the area I served.

Raising a Missionary

My daughter is preparing for baptism. One of the things I encouraged her to do was to go up in front of the ward and bear testimony. She is seven years old, and very concerned about what other people think of her. Though she used to bear testimony regularly as a small child, she hasn't for some time after developing excruciating shyness in front of an audience.

I told her that bearing her testimony in Church on Fast Sunday might be a good thing to do before making the covenant to stand as God's witness. She agreed to do it, but her fears soon overtook her.

"But I don't know what to say," she said.

"You say what you believe in. What the gospel of Jesus Christ means to you."

"I'm going to be nervous."

"Most people are nervous, sweetheart. If you want me to, I'll go up with you."

She nodded, but still looked doubtful. "That would be good, mommy."

"I will stand up with you and hold your hand, if you like."

"Will you whisper what to say?"

My Best Two Years

I have often heard people refer to their missions as their best two years. There is even a movie about it. And I've heard many people mock the idea of a mission being their best two years. Usually because missions are so hard and miserable. Who can honestly enjoy being rejected on an hourly basis, working so hard at something with so little personal reward? You've got to be insane, or brainwashed. Or brain dead.

To be honest, my mission is not the best two-year span anymore, though it was. That honor currently goes to my most recent two years. But directly after my mission, I would have said it was my best two years without any hesitation. Not because it was fun. It was actually pretty terrible. I would explain, but that would be a VERY long blog post. So I'll give a light sampling. Under my first mission president, incredible focus was placed on memorizing the discussions. We were even considered "greenies" (newbie missionaries) until we had memorized and passed off word-for-word the first discussion. (They still had the seven discussions, then.) Eventually, we were expected to memorize them all.

I don't memorize. Generally, I think memorization is a waste of time that undermines comprehension, especially with something like missionary discussions. Being who I used to be, I vociferously refused to do it. (My poor 19-21 year old district leaders really got a workout trying to be my Priesthood leader through the entire duration of my mission. Any of them who still wish to serve God in a priesthood capacity after experiencing mission-me really deserve some kudos.) I did eventually cave, but only because my mission president told me that while I didn't have to do it, it would really help my district leader if I just bent to the unnecessary rule.

The bulk of my mission under this president was an ongoing battle of wills between me, my district/zone leaders, and the mission numbers.

Why I Pay Tithing to the LDS (Mormon) Church

When I was a child, my parents taught me budgeting. Of every dollar I made, a dime went to tithing, fifty cents to long-term savings (for education/mission/marriage,) twenty cents to short-term savings (like that camera or art supplies I was saving up for,) which left me twenty cents to spend right away, should I wish.

When I was a kid, I hated watching my money ticking away like that. Of course, that was before I started working, and realized that a tenth of my money goes to tithing, a third goes to the government, and at least half goes to bills, leaving me even less than twenty percent to spend on food, etc. Who would have thought it was so realistic?

But that isn't why I pay money to the Church, including tithing, fast offerings, and occasionally other funds. My reasons are much more personal than that.

Let Her Be Silent

I have a very hard time holding my tongue. By nature, I wear my heart on my sleeve. Because of this, I have been easily used by some people. For a long time, I closed up the walls of my heart completely. When I was about twenty years old, I realized this flaw in myself. It took me many years and much prayer to learn how open up at all. And, when I do, I am not always wise about who I open up to. Staying open is often a struggle.

Vitamins Aren't Enough

I sit in sacrament meeting, watching a couple in our ward report on yet another mission and wondering why it irritates me. Shouldn't I be glad they are serving? They are only doing what the Lord has asked (as they point out several times in their talks.)

I don't know exactly why I feel so tense and distressed. They speak of how much the Lord loves the people in wherever-it-was-they-just-got-back-from. Which is true, I know that is true, and the thought brings me joy. So what is my problem?

Something to Talk About

Bookslinger makes a great point, and one of the reasons I've always loved that passage of scripture in Ether 12, along with the Lord making it clear that HE is the one to make weaknesses strong, not US.

For me, I think the reasons for not being more free with talking about my faith aren't that I'm worried about looking stupid or "uncool" (if I was worried about that, I think I'd have self-destructed years ago), but there are two things that feed into each other.

First, I take my religion very seriously, and hold it very precious. I spent 19 months parading my "pearls" out before people, testifying of things that I found so precious, only to see them trampled on. I come online and see them trampled on every day. So it's become harder for me to share as the years pass, unless I have some indication that someone really wants to know.

Second, I have developed a definite level of social anxiety. It takes effort for me to even look someone in the eyes, let alone talk to them about anything serious. Strangely, I have no problem performing in front of people. Then, it's the performance that is the focus, not me. I can pretend to be social, make small talk until the cows come home. But that isn't me. When it comes to sharing things face-to-face that actually touch on who I am . . . . Well, I'll just say it is also becoming harder and harder.

I think I always had a touch of that, but in recent years it's become almost a full-blown phobia. I suppose at the root of it all is fear, and I've not yet developed the perfect love that will cast that out. At least, not in the sense of random encounters to hand out Books of Mormon. So I post online, where there is a buffer between me and other people. This is where I bear testimony, pour out my heart.

There has to be a balance where my love for the gospel feeds into my love for other people. Obviously, if I truly got the Gospel, it would come despite my social fear of being a nuisance to people.

I know that "perfect love" doesn't mean trusting someone who is untrustworthy. I've done that, and know for myself that it is not of God. What does "perfect love" even look like? Is it possible to love perfectly when I have children to protect? To take Christ's example, perfect love is allowing others to have their way with you, assuming it is God's will. But without a clear conduit between me and divinity, how am I to know what is God's will and what isn't? I thought it was God's will for a person to keep peace with their spouse, that it was God's way to allow people room to change and grow and make their own mistakes. But again, I can testify that that doesn't really work.

So how does one begin to develop that perfect love for all men, as well as for the Lord? How does one get galvanized to share the Gospel with people who probably don't want to hear it, especially when many of them are predators waiting to strike at the least sign of vulnerability?

Growth of the Church in Germany

I am not the best attendee of mission reunions, but I did attend last October, and I'm very glad I did. We had a segment presented by a German on how the missionary work is changing in Germany. I'm sure most of you are aware of the consolidation of missions and reduction in missionaries sent there and in other places.

But what I (and I assume most) didn't know is that the number of convert baptisms and retention is actually growing rapidly, especially among the "target ages" of twenties and thirties.

The burden of missionary work has been shifted from missionaries and put squarely on members' shoulders. And in true German fashion, the members have risen to the occasion.

Many have assumed that the missions are being consolidated from lack of interest and conservation of resources. But what the numbers are showing (according to the presentation I heard) is that when members begin to realize their own responsibility for teaching and nurturing converts in their own areas, you get more conversions and more baptisms. People take care of each other. Missionary work becomes more personal and more real. The wards and stakes become more Christian. And those who convert are serious about converting, and stay with it.

So the Church is not shrinking because of fewer missionaries in developed areas. It is growing.

Naming the Rose

One of my favorite authors, Madeleine L'Engle, explored the concept of Naming in her book, A Wind in the Door. To summarize, Naming is a process by which a Namer understands a thing and Names it what it truly is. Like so many of the spiritual ideas in L'Engle's work, this one resonated with me. Scripturally, it would explain why God and His messengers so often name the people they speak with before they deliver their message.

There is also an immense social power in the power of naming. That is why stereotypes will always exist to some extent. Names are symbols. When you name something, you bring with it all the connotation and symbolism inherent in that name. Perhaps this is why we so often try to define the people in our lives by certain names. This is the jock. He is the geek. She is the cheerleader. They are the Mormons.

Sometimes names mean slightly different things to different people, which is why miscommunication happens. Names act as a mental shorthand, allowing us to mean far more than we actually say. The Church's struggle with the name "Mormon" makes perfect sense in this context. Some people think "Mormon" and think plural wives, devil horns and child molestation. Others think of charitable works, the MoTab and temples.

If we accept a name that might not fit us with all its connotations, we find ourselves explaining a lot. Yes, I'm Mormon. No, I don't have any sister wives. Yes, I go to the temple. Yes, I believe the Bible.

Yet, perhaps there is power in explaining a name as well. So long as we don't let ourselves be defined by the name, but choose to define the name itself, we can accept it. As we do this, we have to be careful that when we are Named, we are truly understood. That means taking a Name upon us which we keep sacred by the way we live, the way we treat others.

Sure, "Mormon" is a name which can apply to us, but "disciple of Christ" should be the ultimate Name by which we are known. That should be the name that He Names us.

And remember, according to L'Engle, in order to be Named, the Namer has to understand the core of who we are. To be Named Christ's disciple, we have to truly be His.

I Believe in Missionary Work

Articles of Faith #11
We claim the privilege of worshiping Almighty God according to the dictates of our own conscience, and allow all men the same privilege, let them worship how, where, or what they may.

This may seem like a strange title for this Article of Faith. It seems to be saying, "Eh, you do what you do, and I'll do what I do, and no worries!" which is seemingly in direct contradiction to the idea of missionary work, which is to preach one's beliefs to others. The more I've pondered it, however, the more my mind kept being drawn back to missionary work.

I see missionary work differently than many, I suspect. I have seen missionary work addressed in two main strains: either the gung-ho, sling-the-Books-of-Mormon style (which has its place) or the member-example style (which also has its place). My purpose is not to belittle either, as I believe both can be effective in the right circumstances, but to explore a somewhat different approach.

On my mission, I was a bit of a proselytizer for a rather odd style of missionary work, in a time when we were being taught lesson memorization, sales tactics and literal foot-in-the-door techniques in Zone Conference. I had to memorize the first discussion, word-for-word, in German in order to be considered a "real missionary". It was expected that the other discussions would also be memorized. The more I thought of it, the more I struggled with the idea of teaching through memorization. I was not an expert in the language, despite previous German experience, but I still felt that missionary work should come from the heart and not the tongue. I felt that the words would take care of themselves, so long as a missionary did his/her best to study and learn the language. I also felt that sales tactics such as preparing a door approach, focusing on the "free book", or handing out pamphlets, tended to diminish the work, not enhance it. However effective sales tactics might be in the right hands for getting baptisms, and despite being taught such tactics nearly every district and zone meeting, I felt that baptisms were not the purpose of missionary work. The purpose was to bring people closer to God, to give them a chance to feel the Spirit, and let the Spirit teach them what God wanted them to know. If that ended in baptism and eventual exaltation, excellent! If not, then at least we had done what we could to bring the Spirit into someone's life and give them the chance to choose for themselves.

A book that strongly influenced this take on missionary work was Teaching by the Spirit by Gene R. Cook. Ironically, this book was given to me in the first two months of my mission by my mission president. It confused me at the time that the meetings were always so sales-oriented, that my outlook was so dramatically different, and yet the mission president never corrected me, never spoke against my outspoken rebuttals of what was being taught and actually had me speak on more than one occasion. Now I think I understand a little better, and I think the reason is held in this Article of Faith.

Sales tactic missionary work can help people who would otherwise do nothing out of fear or laziness. However, this style must eventually be softened by an understanding of agency and choice. A person cannot be allowed to worship "according to the dictates of their own conscience" if they are never taught their choices, if their conscience is never given a chance to dictate. If a person labors under misconceptions or ignorance, they cannot choose for themselves.

Nor do I believe that we will be held accountable for someone not hearing the gospel. We should not be motivated to engage in missionary work out of fear of punishment. We should engage out of love. If we really believe the Gospel of Jesus Christ as revealed to Joseph Smith, really believe and understand it, we will want to share it because it is so amazing and healing. Then, not only will we be able to respond with love and patience when our gift is rejected (allowing all men the privilege to worship how they choose), we will be focused on actually offering a real gift to a real person in a way they will most likely be able to accept it.

That "way" will differ as widely as people will differ, and cannot be taught in a classroom. It is entirely directed by the Spirit, by One who knows the other person, their concerns and their heart. Therefore, the "tactics" which should be focused on are dedicated discipleship, purifying oneself to receive the Spirit, and prayerfully gaining knowledge so the Spirit has plenty of tools to utilize. When we are in tune with the Spirit, we will be given what to say and do. And, when and if the person chooses to reject the Spirit, they will be rejecting God, not us. We as messengers will be free to sorrow for their choices, but not to feel afraid or angry. We will be free to allow them their choice.

If we fail to follow this Article when we share the Gospel, we do not understand missionary work. We do not understand the meaning of the Book we are handing over, nor the principles we claim to share.

So yes, share the message in true love and consideration and then let go. We allow all to worship as they will (barring harm to the innocent), and we allow it by sharing what is in our hearts, by demonstrating love and conviction, and most of all by following the guidance of the Spirit and allowing Him to tell us what to do. Sometimes that may be handing over a book. Sometimes it may be mowing a lawn, or being a good example. Sometimes it may be something never dreamed of before.

I Believe in Authority from God

Articles of Faith #5
[I] believe that a [person] must be called of God, by prophecy, and by the laying on of hands by those who are in authority, to preach the Gospel and administer in the ordinances thereof.

I have been called to several callings in the Church. Rarely, have I felt it was a calling from God by prophecy. Usually, it is a calling from man by expediency, with God's approval. The one time I was called to preach the Gospel, however, the divinity of my calling was unmistakable.

When I was fourteen years old, I heard a testimony during a Young Women's camp fireside which struck a fire deep into my heart. From that moment, I knew I was to serve a mission for my Church, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Our missions consist of 19-year-old boys serving two years and 21-year-old girls serving for 18 months in a place chosen by Apostles of the Church.

Although this desire to serve did not immediately change my behavior, I feel it had a subtle effect on my life over the next few years. I cleaned up my language, began listening to different music, continued to go to Church when all pressure pointed otherwise, and made small but very personal changes towards purifying my thoughts and my behavior. I attended college, taking a missionary preparation class. One requirement in this class was to attend a fireside. My memory being what it is, I don't remember who spoke, but during that talk came the distinct and strong impression that I was not to go on a mission.

I was devastated. I had been planning to go, assuming I would go, for years. I had felt called. After a great deal of tearful soul-searching and discussions (relieved on their side) with my parents, I stuck by the feeling I had not to serve.

It was a couple years later when a telephone conversation with my mother sparked an even stronger feeling that I was now to go. It was late for sisters, I was 22, about the time most sisters would be returning from their missions, but the feeling never left me. Thinking I was perhaps wrong, that my feelings came from me, I hesitantly begin to make preparations.

My parents would not support me on this mission, since I was living as a complete adult, and I did not know how to get the money to serve. After sharing this feeling with my visiting teachers, feeling like a tearful nutjob for opening myself up to them this way, I was approached by one who said she would contribute $25 per month. I was filled with gratitude. It would not cover the complete expense, but it was a spark of hope. Her offer was followed by one from my aunts and grandparents. Eventually, my parents called to let me know they would cover the rest. It was nothing short of a miracle to me, and an outpouring of support. I knew from how things all came together that the Lord had provided the means for me to accomplish the things He was commanding me to do by working through those who believed on His name.

Although my bishop was less than supportive of my choice, it was only two weeks from when I submitted my papers to receiving my call, and only a month until I was to report at the MTC. Two weeks after that, I found myself on German soil, feeling rather unprepared, but knowing I had been called of the Lord to be there at that time.

That calling was a protection and a strength to me during a rather trying mission.

I know that many people feel called of God to teach or preach whatever their particular agenda is. I know many take it upon themselves to teach what they think is right, against the counsel of those who are in authority. I believe that it is important to follow those the Lord has set in place to lead His Church. They are human, they are not perfect, but there is a principle greater than perfection, greater than being "right", and that is the Atonement. Christ's suffering, death, and return to life covers the imperfections of our leaders as well as our own sins, should we repent and be faithful to His teachings.

I was not a perfect teacher when God called me to teach. I made many mistakes I still regret. But I am humbled to know that God called me at that time to serve Him in that way, and to know that His purposes are fulfilled even in my imperfections. That understanding has led me to be a little more careful in how I judge the Lord's Anointed, a little more charitable when I don't understand their admonitions and guidance. I fully support the leaders of our Church. I believe they have been called as men to serve in the calling of God, and I am glad we have men upon the watchtower to see those dangers coming and to guard us.

The Unchosen

I once met a twenty-year-old man with a strange story to tell. This man's parents and siblings were active in Church service, one of the few families in his area who were. He loved missionary work, having converted to the restored Gospel of Christ when he was a child. When he was eighteen, he filled out and submitted his mission papers, eagerly awaiting his call. Surprisingly, the letter he received in return did not state the area in which he would serve. It said, rather, that the missionary board had received no inspiration to where he should serve. He was told there would be a six month waiting period, at the end of which he should submit again. Again, there was no call and the letter suggested he wait another six months. Shortly before I met him, he tried a third time. This time the letter came back stating that he was fully worthy to serve, but that it was clear the Lord wanted him to serve in his home town. He was ward mission leader.

I found it interesting when reading Alma 31 that Helaman, the one to whom he would give the keeping of the records, did not go on the mission to the Zoramites. Alma left him home. For whatever reason, he was called to serve quietly while his (perhaps) less worthy brothers went to reclaim the apostate Zoramites with their father. I have often felt this way, left behind while others claim blessings and give service in which I long to participate. Not all the places in the garden of the Lord receive as much sunlight as others, but I believe every place has a purpose and adds beauty.

Sometimes it's hard to be asked to wait. It can feel lonely, as if the Lord has no need of you. But I have been promised that the Lord has need for every hand willing to till the earth, no matter how unskilled or inept. Whatever our own personal weaknesses, whatever our private pain, the Lord needs us. We may not all be bishops or Apostles, but the mothers and sisters, fathers and sons, ward greeters and hymnbook-retrievers can all bring beauty and joy to the Lord's kingdom.

That twenty year old man who wanted little more than to serve a mission was one of the best ward mission leaders in that area. His efforts brought more of his friends and others to the gospel of Christ than the missionaries did. He was truly called to serve at home as an instrument in the hand of God, and many were "brought to sing redeeming love" among the disciples of the Most High God.

Obedience Despite Disagreement

I want to share a story. I apologize, but it is a mission story, I can't help that. It is something quite personal and sacred to me, but at the urging of a friend I shall share it here.

My mission president was the sort of man who was able to see straight through you and into your soul when he shook your hand. He was wise and patient, and able to interview and teach missionary work on levels suited to the individual missionary. He was quite strict, having inherited a somewhat chaotic mission. He was roughly halfway done with his mission when I entered the mission field. He also loved sisters and sister missionary work.

I was in four areas during my first nine months, transferred nearly every transfer, until I was sent to the most remote sisters' area in the mission. The nearest member priesthood wielders were in a town 10 minutes away by train. The nearest missionaries were 30-40 minutes away by train. We were effectively alone in our work. Moreoever, the ward did not like missionaries. They had some bad missionary experiences in their fairly recent past, and still largely thought of the missionaries as parasites with no benefit to them.

The work was difficult there. We were remote, and had no car. We walked and used public transit. The terrain was fairly hilly, and communities were spaced relatively far apart. With little member support and no other missionaries, it was lonely. We struggled to teach and bring investigators to church, only to have them shunned and ignored. It was difficult. After praying about it for some time and receiving strong Spiritual confirmation, my companion and I decided to recommend that the area be closed to missionaries for a time. It would give the members time to rest. Eventually, our desires were granted.

I was sent to a place I had always felt I would be sent. I felt I had some specific work to do. It was four and a half months before the end of my mission, as I had decided to take the later return home. Also, two weeks after my transfer, we were to change mission presidents and merge with another mission. I was placed in a companionship which was amiable for about two hours, but then fell apart when I looked over the book and, as the senior companion, prepared to direct our companionship's work.

My companion of the time was very headstrong, and though she was junior companion in her previous companionship, she made all the decisions. In the brief time observing the companionship before the other sister returned home, I saw a rather emotionally abusive relationship. This sister resented my outlook on missionary work, as I thought we should spend our time teaching and tracting, and not lounging around members' houses, having come from an area which was still suffering from such behavior. She felt the best way to do the work was to buddy up with the members.

As those who have been in these sorts of relationships know, when the parties agree, it is as if there is no senior and junior companionship. When the parties do not agree, however, it is the job of the senior companion to prayerfully and considerately make the decision. I admit I was not as considerate as I now wish I had been. To me, the mission was about work, not play, and I was still young in my position as senior companion. The companionship quickly became completely unbearable, and we spent more time split with the office sisters in our apartment next to the main office, and not together as companions. In this personal climate, we gained a new president and merged with the other mission.

The new president knew our previous president fairly well, as they had served missions together. Purely in speculation and feelings I gained, as they made little to no outward sign of it, I feel they did not particularly get along before. They were completely cordial to each other, however, and our beloved mission president left the mission in the hands of his successor. Perhaps because there had been some history behind them, perhaps because all new presidents feel they need to change things, perhaps because of the merger, our work quickly changed. The new president felt that triple companionships were a waste of resources, and since there were two sister companionships of that nature in the mission, within a week my previous companion and I were sent back to the area we had been relieved to leave.

I couldn't help but feel that it was a personal failure on my part. If I had been a better senior companion, had known how to deal with my angry junior companion, perhaps I would have been allowed to stay where I felt I should be and do the Task I thought the Lord wanted me to do. My failure, in my eyes, was spectacular. My companion was transferred out of the area in the next transfer and I was paired with a senior sister.

She was in her seventies, but extremely fit, especially for her age. It was good that she was so, because the terrain had not changed and we still had no car. Feeling like a failure, I redoubled my efforts to work hard and frankly pushed her far too hard to learn the language and keep up with the work. I was perfectly horrible to her. I felt completely crushed by my situation, and at a loss to know what to do. Each transfer I prayed to leave, each time I stayed I knew I was still a failure. I knew I had messed up beyond repair, and I was banished to a place I could do little further harm, paired with someone who could not help me prove I was worthy.

During this time of angst, the president decided that as a mission, we were not working hard enough and doubled our goal numbers. He strongly favored the other mission we had merged with and constantly lauded their efforts and their successes. They were a much smaller mission and had not been transferred very often. Most missionaries there would serve in one or two areas before going home, our average was more like four or five. They were the golden children, and resentment was building in our half of the mission. As the most senior sister remaining from that mission, I was the recipient of a great deal of complaining.

The resentment only grew worse as rumors began to circulate that the new president's favorite sister missionary was calling her previous Zone Leader (across two countries) after curfew. Other similar rumors began to fly. As telephone records came out, so did the truth. This sister and the elder involved were sent home honorably, from what I remember, as it was time for her to return home anyways. That was not the end of it. Perhaps because of the infrequent transfers or smallness of that mission, most of the rumors were true. It quickly became common knowledge that the Golden Child was in a state of decay, and the whipping boy was boiling in anger over it.

I thought it would be a good idea to let the president know the state of feeling among many of the missionaries, including myself, before it boiled over. I was recalled from my remote area, riding 5 hours alone to return to the area I felt I was supposed to serve in. I had no idea what was going on. When I got to the office, I sat for some time before being invited in. There followed a long, tearful, emotional interview in which I was informed that the Mission President was sending me home in the next transfer. I was to be given an honorable discharge, but was not to stay the extra month I had felt strongly I was to serve, despite my personal difficulties.

He felt I was breaking under the stress of the mission and could not handle another month. I plead with him as I have never done so with anyone else. I knew I was supposed to stay. I promised I would no longer complain and would do all I could to disperse the ill feelings of others. I can't remember everything I said in that interview, but by the end, he let me stay (on probation.) I returned, completely humiliated and broken. I served my last month without the zeal and energy I had before depended on.

In my time after being sent back, we had completely ceased doing member meals. At first this was only our companionship's choice, but the president had meanwhile told the missionaries that member meals were to be done on their free time and were not to count as missionary work, unless a nonmember was present. We tracted. Fairly early in my return, a referral came in from a member in another mission. This lady had gone through a divorce and had one son, about two years old. She was utterly sweet, and lived in the furthest reach of our area. We had to travel an hour and a half by train to teach her. We had been teaching her every week when I was recalled to the office, and after I returned, she set a baptismal date and ended up being baptized the Saturday before I left for home. She was the only baptism of someone I had taught which I saw in the course of my mission.

Gradually, during my last month, my humiliation became mixed with humility. I began to see all the many things I had done wrong in the latter course of my mission. I began to understand that I had no right to take upon myself the responsibility of informing the mission president what he was doing wrong. I certainly should never have participated in all the ill feeling towards him. Even if I had felt it, I should have kept it to myself.

I believe his efforts, though misguided, were deeply sincere. He had been trying to do the right thing. It was some time after my mission that I saw that his situation was not so different from what mine had been as senior companion to a girl who resented me. In my own small way, I had been in a leadership position I was ill prepared for. I had made serious mistakes, despite trying to do what I felt was right and trying to follow the Spirit with all my energy of soul. How wonderful it would have been, and how much more I could have learned, had my companion chosen to support me with gentle discussions of how she felt I was wrong. If she had given me time to grow and learn, we could have been a stellar companionship.

I'm sure the new president learned some life-changing lessons in the course of his service, despite its stormy beginnings. I still cherish him and his wife, and wish I were better at keeping up with them. I know he is—and was—a man of God, called by Him to be there in that place and time, despite his imperfections and insecurities.

There is a time, place and manner in which to disagree with our priesthood leaders. They are imperfect, but I have never once met one who wasn't trying to do the right thing according to their understanding. It is so vitally important to treat them with charity and understanding. Love them, even if you don't agree with them. Realize that the Lord has called them to their position for reasons you don't know. Through their leadership service, they will learn charity and humility. In the meantime, support them with a whole heart, even if you cannot agree with them. Disagree respectfully and lovingly. You never know when you will be in a place of leadership where you will wish that you had one person willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.

Oh, That I Were an Angel!

I have never really understood Alma 29. In it, Alma expresses the desire to be an angel and to cry repentance with a voice to shake the earth. Then, he says that he sins by wishing that. I always thought that sounded rather falsely humble. After all, is it not a great work of God to wish to cry repentance?

Now I think I begin to understand an inkling of why that was a sin. I have come to a point where I see people I love and others I care about making choices that cause them pain. It brings me a very real sorrow to see them lying to themselves and cheating themselves out of happiness, not to mention all those around them. I have felt the desire to shake them and say "Can't you see what you are doing?!" But Alma's statement that he sinned by wishing the same thing was no false humility. It was true.

Part of the price we pay for our agency is the agency of others. When it is legal to smoke, we are accepting the damage that nicotine does second-handedly to our lungs. When we choose to marry, have children or make friends we are also accepting that they have their own agency which can then hurt us by their actions. When we overcome our own natural inclinations in order to preach the gospel, we must accept that there are those who will refuse it, despite our sacrifices. When we decide to be disciples of Christ, we take upon ourselves His name and, by so doing, take upon ourselves some degree of His sorrows and travails. I wonder if the pain He felt came more from watching those He loves make choices that cause only grief. I have learned how that can be a very real pain, even if the actions of another don't affect me in any more material way. I have felt no agony more exquisite than watching someone exercise their agency in a way that causes unforeseen pain, knowing I should do nothing to restrict them from doing so.

It is a sin, perhaps one of the gravest sins, to desire to take away another's agency. All of the worst sins including murder and chastity infringements center around that desire (or at least that disregard for another's agency). Allowing others their agency in no way invalidates laws required to govern our behavior in society, but it does mean that the execution of those laws must be done with true understanding. They must not be upheld through a desire to control, only a desire to protect. It may seem like a very thin line, but I think it means a world of difference in the realms of the soul.

It is vital to remember that we have each been given an allotment from God. That allotment may include great deeds, but it more importantly and more commonly includes the small ones. It does not matter whether you serve as priesthood wielder, prophet, Nobel Peace Prize winner, sister or mother, so long as you serve as a child of God, with all the powers and divinity which come with your status. Alma was not an angel, nor was he called to be the hand by which the miraculous work of converting the Lamanites was brought about. But in his less glorious and romantic way, he was able to bring about the salvation of just as many souls. And, humbly, he was able to rejoice in the great deeds of his brethren. It may not be the tale to excite the blood of small sword-brandishing boys, but it is beautiful and glorious.