My Missionary Experience is Greater Than a Broadway Musical

The Book of Mormon: Broadway came to a city near me. The kids and I actually drove by a huge crowd waiting to see it one afternoon. If I didn't know The Church of Jesus Christ of Later-day Saints takes out a three page ad in the playbill, I probably would have rolled my window down and shouted "Read the book!" Heck, even knowing that I still wanted to.


A couple days later my neighbor informed me she saw it. I sensed she was offended by the crudeness of both the language and the content, but her husband shrugged it off and said, "you've got to laugh at yourself." They assured me the musical doesn't make particular fun of my religion, but rather it makes fun of all people who profess a faith in God (and the sufferings of Third World Countries). While I agree (based on the synopsis they shared) that the musical pokes fun of people of all faith, it does so using one of the most humbling, sacred, life forming, wonderful, difficult, joyous, and painful experiences of my life. The Mormon Mission.



Like most Mormons, I've tried to take the high road in regards to the musical. I'm not writing this post to voice complaint or offense, but rather to let you know that you have a fabulous primary source when it comes to understanding Mormon Missionary service. Use the musical for what it is: entertainment. Do not use it for what it isn't: knowledge. Neither of the musical's creators served a Mormon Mission; they aren't even Mormon. Please realize that the Broadway play that won nine Tony awards is simply an R-rated, stereotyped version of something I lived day in and day out for 538 days.

It's hard to sum up 18 months of life changing moments in one blog post (feel free to read my mission memories tag in the sidebar, which still doesn't do the experience justice), but I'm going to attempt it. Why? Because if my readers, friends and neighbors get their info from the Broadway play, I am at fault. Tonight, I'd like to give you a glimpse of my own personal Mormon Mission. The experience is different for each of us, and yes there are great news articles and church websites that can give you a basic overview. But I want to share with you dear reader, friend, and neighbor -- my own personal journey as a missionary.



Missionary service is voluntary, not paid.
No one is paid to be a missionary. Quite the opposite. Missionaries are financially responsible for their service. I had the great fortune of having two loving parents who paid the monthly total (somewhere between $400-$500 a month) for me to be a missionary. They also foot the bill for my two older brothers. When my parents were young adults they did not have the same level of support. My mother relied on her own funds and donations made by her local congregation. My father relied on money he'd earned in college and the help of his widowed mother. Some missionaries labor and save for years in order to afford this service opportunity.

The area of service is assigned, not chosen.
As part of the missionary preparation process young men and women fill out a great deal of "paperwork" -- which is now all done on line. They are given a chance to rate their level of interest in learning a foreign language, but that is the best chance they get in saying they'd like to go overseas (and their preference is merely considered, often ignored). When I was deciding for myself if I really wanted to serve, I had to make sure I would not be disappointed with an assignment in the States. My parents and two elder brothers each served in Europe, so I had to make sure my expectation wasn't a cool overseas experience, but a real desire to serve the Lord. I had to determine I could be happy serving anywhere, even in the Salt Lake Temple Square Mission (my "worse possible" assignment scenario). I was assigned to serve in Singapore and East Malaysia. I had to look that up on a map.

Missionaries are great ambassadors for the people and cultures they serve. 
It is difficult to find a missionary who does not have a profound love and respect for the state and people they served. Even missionaries who lived in some of the world's most politically troubled nations will tell you something wonderful about the society there. Mostly, they will tell you of the beautiful traditions, customs, and cultures.

I love Islam. I respect anyone who chooses to practice Islam in the manner it is intended to be practiced. I have no problem separating Muslim from Terrorist. I firmly believe God expects me to be a voice of reason for those who do struggle with this separation.



Mosques are exquisite and simple. I'd give almost anything to hear the daily prayer, called out five times a day, while I ride my bike through the jungles of Borneo. I'd love to spend just a few brief moments walking through a Malaysian food gallery just before the close of Ramadan. I've never seen so much devout worship in all my life.

I love the respect Buddhists have for their ancestors. I love the long history of their celebrations.

I long for Asia every Chinese New Year, or, as I still prefer to call it, Gong Xi Fa Cai.

I miss Gawaii like crazy each summer, as my facebook feed lights up with old friends celebrating Borneo Islands harvest season.

Indian food is now my favorite, and Deepavali (more commonly known as Diwali) is an amazing religious festival we would all do good to celebrate -- the victory of light over darkness, hope over despair, knowledge over ignorance. What wonderful principles to embrace as a human family.

There are Malaysian/Singaporean things I don't embrace with love, like Durian. But I love the memory of my first bite!

My greatest lesson learned was love.
I knew love before a mission. I loved my family. I loved my dearest friends. I'd even loved a boy. But what I learned as a missionary was a new kind of love. I learned of the love Christ has for all of God's children. This love is immense. It has the power to save lives. It has the power to bind families together for eternity. It has the power to overlook human weakness, struggle, and sin and replace it all with love.

Charity, the pure love of Christ, is the absolute most wonderful thing I gained as a missionary. I am not perfect in my charity, and I wasn't perfect in it as a missionary, but those tiny glimpses of Christ's love for the people of Singapore and Malaysia have impacted me greatly and carried me on through difficult times in my life. It served me well as a teacher in inner city DC.

It serves me well as a mother.

I gained perspective. 
The play gets one thing right, a missionary experience is a great coming of age journey. I'm forever grateful that during those young, formative years I learned how unimportant worldly possessions are.




I learned how crucial it is to respect people who speak different languages and have different backgrounds.


I learned how to make a marriage work. Missionary companionship's require work, compromise, love, and understanding.

I gained so much more from this experience. Bruises from bike accidents.


Blisters from miles of walking. Heat exhaustion from 100 degree temps with 100% humidity.

And heartache from crushing disappointments. Just as I had glimpses of the Savior's love, I had glimpses of His suffering. I was not with Him in Gethsemane, but I know the agony He felt there was real. I felt a portion of the pain He must feel every time His love is not returned.

I know what it is like to want to lay down my life in order to save another. All because I was a Mormon Missionary.

**I want to reiterate, please, please feel free to ask me ANY questions you have about Mormon Missionary Service, in the comments or on facebook. At the risk of cliche, there are no dumb question, and I've probably fielded many of your questions before. I welcome the conversation.** 

Ten Years Ago

It was around this time ten years ago that I made one of the most important decisions of my life. Honestly, it is hard not to call it the most important decision.

Mid February 2004, I finally pulled out the missionary papers that had been hiding in the bottom of my desk, and I finished filling them out. They'd been collecting dust since October. It was a Saturday night, and I had them all completed by Sunday morning. Which is a miraculous feat.

This was the early digital age, so getting a qualified picture -- you know, one an apostle of the Lord, Jesus Christ, would use to decide my final destination, yeah, that picture -- was a big task. It was surreal though. Once I told my roommates and friends (aka the guys downstairs) that it was a done deal, I was going to finally fill out and submit those papers, they all just got to work. Ryan, a boy who (I didn't know) had a developing crush on me (that did turn into something before I left for Singapore) took care of the picture. I thought that part was going to be impossible, but he did it all for me.

My roommates ran and found the ward clerk so we could figure out how soon I could set up a meeting with our Bishop, who we knew was out of town. By the end of the night he was on the phone with me, giving me my options. I could wait two weeks until he returned, or I could transfer my LDS Church records back home to my parents congregation and I could submit my papers from the Ward (congregation) and Stake (dioceses) I grew up in. He figured that would still take two weeks time.

But he didn't know Delta, Utah. I called my dad, who was the Stake Clerk (meaning he was in charge of membership records for over half a dozen congregations), and he set up all the interviews and meetings I was suppose to have. They were scheduled for the following morning. I think my dad had been waiting for that call and wasn't hesitant to act once it came.

The boys downstairs (mainly Ryan and his friend Nate) helped me comb through all the fine details of the papers, making sure everything was ready for submission. Early the next morning I drove the 3.5 hours to Sutherland, and I met with the current Bishop, a man who had been my family's home teacher all through my teen years. A couple hours later I met with the Stake President, and that evening my papers were sent to SLC, Church Headquarters.

It was really a decision I'd made many years earlier, since childhood I knew I wanted to serve a mission. But the final "I am doing this" decision was made in a simple moment on a Saturday night in an apartment in Logan, Utah, and less than 24 hours later it was done.

I've always loved Elder Oaks BYU devotional on timing. I remember studying it often as I waited for the timing of my missionary service to be right. "In all the important decisions in our lives, what is most important is to do the right thing. Second, and only slightly behind the first, is to do the right thing at the right time."

I'm so grateful I was listening to the Spirit that random Saturday evening, when it whispered "it's time." 

Anniversary

My last post now seems a little ironic.  I just got on facebook and one of my old MTC Elders posted a "Happy Anniversary" greeting on the Singapore Mission page.  It's been seven years since the 8 of us started our great adventure.

Seven years.

This was shot day.  I was terrified.  You'll notice Elder Leishman and I each got two shots, apparently the Cache Valley area was missing something on our little check list.  After earning some special treatment so that I wouldn't pass out, Elder MacFarlane and Elder Hafen hunted down an "I was brave today" sticker and made sure I wore it all day long.  It's still in my journal.  Makes me smile every time.  Oh, the MTC.  In case you counted and noticed there are 10, not 8, the two Elders up front went to Hawaii.  We were the zone everyone loved to hate.  We spent all our time with other English Speaking missionaries, but were going to Hawaii, South Africa, and Singapore . . . not Missouri, Utah, and Wisconsin.  

Sometimes the memories are so fresh it seems like only a couple of years have gone by.  Moments like last night, where I was suppose to teach some of the youth a little Malay, make it all feel like ages ago.

Words will never adequately describe the love and gratitude I have for the wonderful missionary experiences my Father gave me.  They make me a stronger mother and a more patient spouse (which could still use a lot of work).  My understanding of the atonement is much deeper, and not because of the hours of study.  Being set apart by the Power of God to rescue His Sheep offers a special glimpse into the work of saving souls.  I will never fully grasp the complexity of what Christ suffered for us, nor the love He has for each of God's Children.  But I am so thankful that for 18 short months I was able to feel and witness the atonement taking shape in people's lives.  I truly felt Him put His love in my heart.  And I knew I was to share it.  That is amazing.

Remember back when I shared the conversion stories I witnessed?  Well, I have about three more written out, but I scanned the pictures in all wrong.  Maybe this summer I'll fix that and continue sharing their stories.  Missionary work is one of the most beautiful things on Earth.

Seven years ago today changed my life in enormous ways.  

Take the Gospel to the World

I do have lots of fun, thoughtful post ideas in my head.  It's just hard to write about them when I wake up and learn every teacher in the city of Providence, Rhode Island has been fired. Why do we continue to treat our minority children and the teachers who educate them like they don't matter?  Oh, cause to the rich-capitalist they don't matter.  Unless of course you look at the importance of keeping them poor, so that there is less competition on the top and more opportunity to make a profit off their poverty.

I say it again: God, Bless America. 

But today I'll move across the globe to a better place.  Come with me to Singapore and Pakistan. 

I sure wish I had a better picture of these two darlings.  I'm sure I do somewhere, it's just not scanned onto my computer.  Neither Priyanthi (center, Sri Lankan) nor Safia (left, Pakistani) were ever "technically" my companions but I always felt so close to them while I served in Singapore.  I always lived with one of them.  And Safia and I actually did spend 10:00 - 4:00 together every M-F while our companions worked in the mission office.

We had so many crazy and wonderful moments together.  There was the severe hoarder whose dying (and I think at one point dead) mother lived with her.

The game of "which country is that white person from."  She was impressed that I could not only tell they weren't American just by looking at their attire, but when I could quickly say something like "Texas" after just one word.  It was a pretty glorious moment when three college aged boys shouted "CTR! LDS people rock!"  from across a very busy metro plaza.  They had Texas written all over them.

There was the professional singer.  Yup we taught a semi-famous Singaporean.  She even booked a tour to Disney World, and then avoided making appointments when she got back from the good ol USofA.

A drug recover, who introduced us to Singapore's "shady" side.  Which turns out to be cleaner and nicer than most corners of any US city.  The government does not allow homelessness, so even though she couldn't hold down a job she still had a decent flat.

We met with less actives as well.  A mother from Georgia (the state) and her cute little ones.  She had agreed to spend the first years of her marriage attending her husbands Lutheran Church, in hopes he'd return the favor one day.  That didn't really work out for her.  Even when they moved to Singapore and there wasn't a Lutheran Church to be found, he preferred going to Catholic Mass.

Our favorite family to teach was Theresa and Joseph.  We met them one day when Safia didn't want to interrupt our hours of contacting to return to the office.  She really hated the interruption picking up our companions brought to our day (which mostly consisted of riding the MRT for hours and hours handing out pass along cards).  I think I got off the train where we were suppose to, only to turn around and see she had decided to stay on.  She flashed me a huge smile and wave, while I just stood on the platform and laughed.  I must have jumped back on right before the doors closed (or crossed the platform and waited for her to return, I can't remember which).  She had been on her way out the door when she decided to stop and talk to the couple getting on.  We taught Joseph and Theresa every week for the next two months.  She felt it was true, I think he knew it was true.  But alcoholism is a dark and dreary world.   Sigh.  A year later as I spoke with a sister recently returned from Singapore I was told Theresa called up the Elders from her ward boundaries and asked if Sister Safia and Sister Bassett could come back and make her happy again.  Broke my heart.

But my favorite moments with Safia were much simpler than any of this.  They were the moments when we sat in some busy shopping center food court eating lunch together.  She'd tell me all about her life in Pakistan.  She was born a member of the Church.  Her family joined in the very early years, thanks to an American couple her mother worked for.  As a maid in their home, her mother made as much money as well educated Doctors.  Safia did not grow up the stereotyped poor Pakistani Christian, and she knew she had this couple and the Gospel they brought her family to thank.  She was the youngest in a large family, all of which were members of the Church, and had married other members of the Church.  Her father was deceased and she missed him, while admiring the many ways her brothers stood up and filled in his gap.  I always thought it was pretty amazing that a girl my same age spent her whole life attending the same Church meetings I did . . . in Pakistan!  I would have never guessed.  I loved the humility and gratitude she showed as she spoke of the American couple who helped her family find this true source of happiness.  She reverenced them the same way I do my pioneer ancestors, and rightfully so.

Now come with me to, Oshkosh Wisconsin.  Where I meet (who I think is) that very couple.  Our first Sunday in our new Ward the Stake President and his Father-in-law were both quick to discuss the Church in Pakistan with me.  They were not, as most people are, shocked to learn the Church was there.  In fact, they knew how rapidly it grows in that Christian oppressed, Muslim dominated world.

Two Sundays ago this wonderful family had us over for dinner.  As the table conversation progressed I began to realize this very couple, these dear 80-something darlings, were the very people Sister Safia always spoke of with such admiration.  I could hardly believe the twist of fate.

What a wonderful world we live in.  The Gospel of Jesus Christ is such a beautiful thing.  I am so thankful to the hundreds of families like the Kempers, who take that light with them to countries all over the world where wonderful souls like Sister Safia can be blessed for eternity by their goodness.  I really love the work I'm a part of.   

Celebrate

I feel like there is so much to celebrate right now. 

But I'll narrow it down, and draw your attention to "the new" lds.org. 

I played with the Church's map all morning, and discovered:  my most favorite area in the whole wide world has 5 branches.  WHAT?!?!?!  From 2 to 5 in just 5 years :).  I roamed around the rest of the mission areas, and much to my surprise (but not at all to my surprise) other areas haven't had the same kind of growth.

Kuching really is "foreordained" for some great purpose.  I just know it.  Correction  . . . the Saints of Kuching are foreordained.  I felt it in my bones the first time I met them, and every time I looked into their eyes for the following 7 months.  They are a chosen people.

Michelle and Oleyvia

This post has been a long time coming. I uploaded these pictures over a month ago, but could never find the words.I love these five little kids more than any children I've ever known. Between nieces/nephews and students there is a lot of competition. They win with ease.

***

It didn't start out that way of course. You see, my motives as a missionary began conflicted. I was bothered by the notion of spending too much of my missionary time working with in-active members. I was haunted by the thought that I might have been placed somewhere "for my companion" and not for the work. All these things they'd "warned" you about in the MTC -- they weren't the reason I'd come on a mission, I'd come to share the gospel. Not to waste time building up other missionaries or members who had only been committed to the missionaries who taught them.

I came on a mission to share the gospel. Ironically, I believed that the finest way to share the gospel was to share Christ's love with others. You can see how my thoughts and my intents were caught in cross fire.

Suin and her children taught me more about sharing the love of Christ with others than I could have ever imagined. I would do anything to assure these little souls are happy in the after life. Because of mercy, I know they will be.

I had so many amazing experiences with this family; I postponed writing anything because I just can't bring myself to share any of them. Thus, all the jumble above.
Suffice it to say I know His suffering was real. I know He atoned for each of us individually. And I know His love is greater than any emotion we could ever feel.

That's what I learned while we taught Michelle and Oleyvia the gospel, in the home that Suin built in a swamp, out of jungle scraps, with hands of LOVE.

Sister Ivy

As I mentioned in my "Catharina" post, I started out in a three-some with a Thai companion who had about three weeks before she had to go home and leave Julie Weldon and I all alone to take care of her beloved Kuching. Weldon was only three or four weeks more experienced than I, and Waew was definitely frantic in her preparations to leave the work in our hands.

The night of Catharina's baptism the two branches combined to have a pot-luck farewell for Waew. I was amazed there were so many members in that city. I'd been to Church two or three times, and both branches had no more than 30 members in attendance each week. I had many less active members to meet and also a dozen or so investigators.

Ivy seemed the least likely of all the investigators to turn into a serious prospect. She sat quietly on the couch with her children, and when Waew threw me at Ivy, Ivy seemed the least bit interested in Gospel talk. She just kept saying how sad she was Waew was leaving. I saw a woman attached to a missionary, not the missionary message.

I didn't even mention the first time I met Ivy in my journal.

Even though she is clearly the reason I was sent to the Singapore mission, when I was and with the companions I had. Ivy called Waew the next evening. Waew set up an appointment for Weldon and I to meet with Ivy. She told us how excited she was that Ivy wanted to learn about the Gospel. I think I may have even asked "Does she really?"

"Of course!" Waew reassured me. " The only reason things didn't work out before was because my companion and I couldn't bike all the way out to Ivy's house. You two are strong. You can do it. Just be sure to make it in less than an hour, mission rule. If you can't bike there in an hour, you can't teach. Elder Lawrence will let you try it a few times. No problem, lah."

We met with Ivy the next day. We had some funky desert at the nearby mall. She was in no way interested in the Gospel. She was under the impression Waew was going to be there. (there is a small chance Waew was . . . I'd have to journal check that). I realize now Waew knew exactly what she was doing. We had no investigators when she left us. Ivy wasn't interested, but if we told Ivy we were willing to bike out to her place, Ivy wouldn't pass it up. And we'd be too naive to realize Ivy had never agreed to take the lessons.

After about a month of suffering hot, Saturday morning rides out to Ivy's place, Weldon and I stopped with 5 minutes to spare before our hour ride limit was up. We decided right then and there that if Ivy hadn't read The Book of Mormon we'd have to quit. This was a hard sell on Weldon. She never wanted to give up on anyone. But I'd had enough. Fifteen miles on dusty, construction ridden, traffic heavy, jungle roads (in under an hour) had killed me one last time. I was not going to keep making that trip, just to feel miserable about teaching someone who wasn't interested in anything more than feeding us (the yummiest I might add) chicken curry (on the planet). I loved Ivy. But I hadn't come all this way for someone who wouldn't even pick up The Book of Mormon.

We said a little prayer at the entry to her place, and I felt so much peace. We had made the right decision. And much to our surprise, Ivy had read the entire book of Moroni . . . and loved it. She thought they were the best scriptures she'd ever laid eyes on (and this woman knew The Bible better than the Pope). Despite the ancient wording and the old-English language, Ivy had understood those chapters so clearly. "And you know what Sisters. Moroni told me to do the same thing you two have been telling me to do. Read the Book and then ask God if it is true. That seems easy enough. I'll read it for a few more days, and then I can ask in Faith."

The next day in Church her sweet little Crystal leaned over during the sacrament and asked Ivy a question. Ivy turned to a chapter in Moroni and pointed out the verses Crystal should read to get her answer. I was flabbergasted. How had our prayer been answered so quickly?

Ivy spent the next month avoiding baptism and referring every family in her complex to us. We'd show up for a lesson and she'd take us somewhere with 20 other people ready to listen to our message. She even befriended a Filipina woman who confided in Ivy that she was LDS. She had been baptized back in the Philippines with her family, but when she first moved to Malaysia there was no Church, no missionaries . . . so Milet fell away . . . but upon hearing about us, she really wanted to meet us. When we first gave Milet a hug, she just cried. I knew Ivy had received a calling greater than simply accepting our message. She was furthering our work.

Ivy is in blue. Her daughter, Roverienna, is in pink. The others were just a few of the many neighbors Ivy had us share the Gospel to while she avoided further commitment. I'll explain the mask below.

During the month of September the local farmers burn the jungle to ready the fields for the next harvest. The air was so smokey we could hardly see at times. The members pleaded that we stop riding all the way out there. They would take us. But by that time Weldon and I had fallen in love with our 15 mile trek through the city, then the jungle -- to Ivy's house. We'd even started making it in under 40 minutes. We went to the pharmacy and bought some masks and continued until Ivy felt so bad for us she finally set a baptism date.

We never could put our finger on what was stopping her. Eventually I narrowed it down to two things. Her husband (the brother of the member who first introduced Ivy to Waew) did not want Ivy or his step-children joining the Church. Ivy hesitated to ask his permission for baptism, but we reiterated how important family was in all our decisions. One day she just told us she asked him and he said fine. I think even then we both knew she hadn't asked him, she'd told him he couldn't stop her.

The other thing was modern prophets. She never came right out and told us she didn't believe the whole Joseph Smith story. She knew The Book of Mormon was true, and by logic that meant Joseph Smith had translated the book with the help of God. A prophet.

But after her baptism, she stood to bear her testimony and she said with such certainty that she "knew President Gordon B. Hinckley was a prophet of God." She'd one-up-ed us. Not only was she sure about Joseph Smith, but she'd even prayed to know President Hinckley was the living Prophet on Earth today. When she sat back down next to me, she whispered "I didn't know it until I said it. I prayed and prayed to know it was true, and never got an answer. I just knew that Faith was my answer. Now I know."


Crystal was also baptized that day. Which was ironic because Roverienna was the daughter who listened to all our lessons with Ivy. Unfortunately Roverienna was Ivy's daughter with her current husband . . . the one who did not want her to join the Church. Crystal however, didn't need Christopher's permission, all she needed was to whiz threw the lessons with us in time for her mother's baptism date. It was perfect for us and Ivy. The lessons had been kind of jumbled with all the ridiculous questions Ivy asked us as we taught. Now that she was certain everything was true, she could listen to the lessons as they should be. She could even help us teach the concepts to her daughter (in Chinese or any of other various languages the two spoke together). Crystal's testimony was so sweet. She read it in Chinese or Malay or something else. But I understood one part . . . Sister Bassett and Sister Weldon. I asked Ivy what she said "Oh, just that she wanted to join the Church because she could tell how much you two loved her even though she ran away every time you came over." I loved it. Crystal really had always hid from us. She was so shy! I guess she figured we were safe once she realized we weren't going away.

Right then I realized, no matter how difficult Ivy (and the road to her house) had been. It truly was love that converted her and her sweet Crystal. Not just our undying love, but His. Spreading His love was always my #1 motivation for serving a mission, and I knew Ivy was the reason I had been fore-ordained with that strong desire. I still love Ivy more than she'll ever know.

Oh! And Roverienna was baptized about a year and half later. One of my favorite comps had the pleasure of teaching her when she went to Kuching all those months later.

Catharina

I first met Catharina at a food court near her college . . . and not as a contact. My companions, Sister Waew and Sister Weldon, had already taught her one or two lessons. She was dating a member, a recent convert whose work took him out of town for months at a time.

Sister Waew asked me what my impressions of Catharina were as we left. She told me Catharina's baptismal date was coming up in about two weeks and she wondered if I thought Catharina was ready. I didn't know how to tell my trainer "no" politely. Sister Waew listened to my concerns (that Sister Weldon also shared) and just smiled. "Wait until we get to teach her a lesson at Sister Florence's house. Then you'll see." Sister Florence was the mother of Catharina's boyfriend, David.

Sister Florence is a rock.

(Waew, Caroline, David, Catharina, Florence, Weldon, myself)

I didn't meet David until the baptismal day, which Sister Weldon and I still thought was a little too soon (in Catharina's defense, she was very quite and reserved. Looking back I think she had a strong testimony all along, she just didn't speak much during our lessons, nor did she ask questions . . . so that made we two newbies -- Weldon had only been out four weeks longer than me -- nervous. Also, Catharina didn't want to invite her family to her baptism. I thought that was weird; she kept making excuses about how they lived too far away. I met her dad at her wedding . . . he's a big guy and I think she was worried about his reaction to her new lifestyle.)

Anyway, Waew's last week was approaching and she'd been working with this family since she got to the area, so we knew Catharina's baptism was her dream goodbye. We weren't about to come right out of the MTC and try to stop that. David got off work for the weekend and rode a bus for like 6 straight hours. Waew just kept telling us how much David had changed. She was adamant he baptize Catharina, because Waew wanted to see him one last time before she left. She had to make sure he still had the glow of the gospel and not the gloom of alcohol.

Well, I was impressed. David is a real stand up guy. Further proof that Florence is a rock.

David and Catharina were married about a month before I transferred out of Kuching. Their wedding was such a treat. Practically the whole branch was in attendance. I hadn't been a part of that branch for several months, so it was so wonderful to spend an evening with them.

While I was in Singapore a couple of Elders came through with the good news that they had finally taught Sister Florence's other two sons, their wives, and their kids (who lived on opposite sides of Malaysia). One Elder was convinced the family he taught was the most foreordained family he'd ever come across. I knew that was Sister Florence's deceased husband, making sure they'd all be ready for the temple by the time she'd saved up enough money.

On my plane ride out of Malaysia and back to Utah, I had a layover in Kuching. I was shocked to find David in the airport, waiting for a business flight. He was now working for President Ero (the well to do branch president). Catharina was pregnant, Sister Florence, Caroline (her only daughter), and David and Catharina had all gone to the temple. I believe David acted as proxy for his father. The two older sons hadn't been members long enough to join the trip, but he said his mom couldn't wait any longer to be sealed to her husband. He was sure they'd all make it back together someday.

I couldn't believe how far this family had come since I first met Catharina in a food court near her college. Sister Florence truly was one of the most amazing recent converts I'd ever known. Now, all her sons and their wives were members, and half her family was endowed. She was sealed to her husband for eternity. The gospel blessings are abundant for those who sacrifice with faith.

Happy Memories

I'll continue the countdown, but the remaining "7 Days of Thankful" are in no order. It's just to hard to rank the other things I hold dear to my heart. But one thing I'm sure won't surprise you is . . . MISSION MEMORIES. I know that sometimes it seems like I just came home because I'm still so hung over. Funny thing is, when I first came home everyone was impressed by how well I adjusted. The irony.

Since I know I've posted about mission memories before I'll change it up by telling you all the things that made my experience in the Singapore Mission so unique.

• The mission covered 8 countries. Pakistan had the highest baptism rate. Bet you didn't know the church was in Pakistan. Last I checked it was six branches strong.
• We could only wear name tags in Singapore.
• We couldn't tell the Malaysian government why we were visiting their country. "Learning the language" and "visiting friends" were my most common replies. And yes, I was interigated by government officials. But thanks for the Christmas package anyways Mom.
  
• Sister's worked in the office, instead of Elders. I spent four months there.
• You could go from one of the Church's poorest branches (Sri Lanka and East Malaysia) to one of the Church's wealthiest wards (Singapore) in one transfer.
• There were probably more than 100 languages spoken within the mission. That's why my call read "English Speaking." But there was a time I could invite you to Church in Iban, Bidayu, Malay, Chinese, and Korean. I could greet you in all those plus Telugu, Mongolian, Singalese, Tagolog, Japanese and Vietnamese.
• I served in an "American" ward for more than half my 18 months. I spent more time in the Singapore 1st Ward than most the Ex-pat families spent in the ward.

But the reason I loved my mission had nothing to do with any of that. It wasn't even the growth or humility I gained. Neither was it the testimony I strengthened. The reason I have such a hard time getting over my mission experience is one simple thing. The PEOPLE.

I never knew I could love a family as much as the I did the Bails.I never knew watching a newly converted Indian man baptize his pregnant Chinese wife could bring so much happiness to my heart.
I never would have fathomed a weekly 10 mile bike ride on the dusty, pot-hole ridden roads of Sarawak, East Malaysia's capital city would lead me to the person I was foreordained to share the restored gospel with. I love you Sister Ivy.And I never felt heartbreak like I did when George's family left the Church. I bawled like I never had before.
But as my good friend Heidi Draper taught me in my AP English class . . . the bitter makes the sweet even sweeter. And never will I forget the power I felt when Brother Bail layed his hands on Sylvester's head and confirmed him a member of the Church. I have faith that, that sweet blessing will bring the young boy and his family back to the Church someday. Maybe not until the Church goes to Bau. But I have the Faith.

The list could go on. I met so many amazing people who continue to touch my heart daily. Words can not express the love I have for these sweet souls.

I had such a bad week I forgot about . . .

Flashback Friday!

This week's theme is, the things I miss most about Asia/Missionary work . . .

1. The family I miss most is Chris and Kate Varel.Sister Budge and I with Chris and Kate and the Bywater family on Kate's baptism day. Chris is the fairer Indian man. Kate is next to him.

Chris and Kate were a referral from the Bywater family in the Singapore 1st Ward. Before Sister Budge and I started teaching them Sisters Weldon and Wang had been teaching them. Though they were keeping all the commitments they weren't regularly going to Church nor had they set a baptism date. So the Sisters prayed about what to do and the answer was "pass them to the ex-pat ward." Which was technically where they should have been all along since Chris was from India and Kate from China. The other Sisters were teaching them because Sister Wang was also from China so she and Kate could speak Chinese, but they were going to the Filipino ward, which just wasn't right for them. Well after Sister Budge and I started teaching them things really picked up. They loved the 1st Ward and soon Chris set a date. But Kate, several months pregnant, wanted to wait. She never would tell us what was holding her back. But growing up in China, she'd never even had faith in any type of God, she'd hardly even heard of a Supreme Being. But a couple months after Chris was baptized she told us she was ready. When we asked what had changed her mind she replied, "Ever since Chris was baptized he has helped with the dishes and cleaning of the house. His hot temper is gone. He is a much better husband. This is what I was thinking when he wanted to get baptized. I'd wait and see if he changed, and he did, so I now I know the Church is true." Things worked out great this way because on that day Chris was able to baptize her and the Elder's investigator from India. Great way to use his priesthood. They both looked so happy. Since then they have had their baby, and went to the temple to be sealed as a family. I love them so much. I know I'll see them again someday before we meet in the Celestial Kingdom.

2. The food I miss most is definitely Roti Canai. There was this little restaurant in Bintulu, East Malaysia that Sister Boston and I would stop at every night on our way home for some Roti Canai with telur (egg). It's this wonderfully thin bread with an egg cooked in the middle of it. You pour curry sauce over it and enjoy. I wish I could make it here, but it just doesn't work out the same. I still remember eating it for the first time with the Eliap family on the way to Sri Aman. It was instant love.

3. The site I miss most, the road to Ivy's house. Hell might be the word I use to describe that bike ride. But it was so worth it. And once we got out of the city it was just the most beautiful jungle road. There were little wooden neighborhoods all over on the sides of the street. We crossed over a mucky brown river, that looked surprisingly gorgeous. Then (after nearly an hour of biking) we'd make it to Ivy's flats and there would always be kids outside playing in the jungle - happy as could be.I'm wearing a mask because it was "burning season." The jungles of Indonesia and Malaysia were being cut down and burned. The air was thick with smoke and we got so sick I thought we might die. So the members made us promise we'd wear these masks. Sister Ivy is next to me and her daugher Roverina is in front of her. The other woman is her neighbor who she referred and we taught for a while. The boys are hers.

4. The youth I miss the most, Jessica and Viviana.
Jessica and Viviana are standing on the left with me. The Juni family is surrounding Sister Weldon. The family was less active when Sister Weldon and I were left on our own in Kuching. And as they say, every time you bring a less active back they will bring investigators. That is exactly what Brother Juni did. Jessica was his neice, Viviana her best friend.

Lessons at their Kampung were the best! The whole family would gather around to encourage them to do as we taught (stay morally clean, not drink etc) even though no one else in the family was interested in our teachings or commandments. There was always a great dinner. Our translators usually were a little horrific. But somehow these two girls still embraced the gospel. Of course we were a little worried about whether or not they'd stay active. Since they lived about an hour bus ride and a mile walk from the Church, and no one in their family joined with them. But every time I've talked to Sisters who have served in Kuching since then, I hear good news. It warms my heart. I love these girls. I hope they find good LDS men.

5. The companion I miss most is Julie Weldon.








Left: "The Field is White Already To Harvest." Cutting down the jungle for Kuching branches cemetary. Right: crazy statue on the way to Sri Aman.

But having Safia Hussein all the way in Pakistan is hard. I may never see her again. And I'd love to go for a good morning run with Hailey and Tiffany. But things with Julie were just special. We were both new to the field when our trainer, Sister Waew, went home to Thailand. We finished our training together, started with a nearly non-existent investigator pool, and there was low activity in both Kuching branches. We worked harder than I think any two missionaries have ever worked (humble I know). We felt guilty if lunch took more than 20 minutes. We biked 25 miles a day (practically) - visiting less actives and recent converts; contacting everyone we saw on the sidewalks of MJC; knocking Chinese neighborhoods, looking to add some money and diversity to the branches we served in. We never stopped to rest. And it all paid off when we left the area, with both branches swelling up to 80 people in each congregation; with several new families in each branch, none of which were Chinese, but I'm sure we sewed some seeds.

6. Missionary work I miss most is, surprisingly, contacting. Whether we were gate knocking in Malaysia or riding the trains in Singapore it was always so special to bear your testimony to a complete stranger and then invite them to improve their lives by making some small committment. Of course it was always rewarding when that 1 in 100 contact would actually want to meet you again, and then that 1 in 25 that would actually continue learning, and then that 1 in 10 that would join the church. Member referrals really are the way to go, but contancting is amazing.Sister Driggs and I with Sister Budge's amazing contacts, Vietnamese friends Hieu and Mai. Sister Budge gave Hieu our card on the MRT (subway) and a couple months later she called and asked to "learn about Jesus," and she asked if she could bring her friend along. Sister Budge didn't even remember her, but I have never met two people more "golden." They already knew the Gospel. We'd start teaching a principle and they'd finish it. They blew members away. Unfortunately they stopped their investigation when their freindship was broken.

7. Missionary "chore" I miss most is Scripture study. Ben and I read the Book of Mormon every night but it's just not the same. Ask any former missionary. I remember an AP saying once that he missed studying the scriptures with other people in mind, he cried about it and at the time I thought it was kind of strange. But now I know what he meant. Something amazing happens when you study the scriptures with other people in mind the whole time.

8. The culture I miss most - Islam. I love Muslim people. It was heart wrenching not being able to teach them. But I must admit, I broke the rules of few times. When Muslims approached me and asked for us to teach them, I told them we couldn't and then broke the rules by passing them a passalong card with the church's website on the back and the SLC temple on the front. I figured if they really wanted to know they could learn on their own. And I prayed I wouldn't be killed or arrested for this small act of kindness.

9. The P-day activity I miss the most is Squash. Why haven't Americans picked up on this sport? I loved Wednesday mornings when all us Singapore Sisters got together for some squash competition.

10. And for the last one it's a tie, between neighborhoods I miss the most. These two neighborhoods have much in common. Batu Kawa RPR is one of the poorest neighborhoods in Kuching and Sebatang was Bintulu's poor. Batu Kawa was filled with part member families, less active women with several beautiful children, husbands who wouldn't even talk to us. Sebatang was filled with recent convert families. Like six full families with the most adorable and happy children. And the grandmother to them all was perhaps my favorite.

Batu Kawa . . .


The children I love more than any others in the world, Sister Suin's kids. On Sister Weldon's last night in Kuching I asked "where do you want to go?" But I already knew the answer. Sister Suin's one room house in Batu Kawa RPR. And almost a year later when Sister Boston and I were in Kuching for Zone Conference I begged, "Can we just go to one house?" When we got out of the Taxi and walked toward the front porch little Michelle started jumping up and down and screamed "Sister Bassett! Sister Bassett!" She ran inside to get her mother and immediately the tears started to flow. And on their TV console stood a picture of days long gone, of Sister Weldon and I at their house for Michelle and Oleyvia's baptism lessons.

Sebatang . . .









Left, Sadam (a married 17-year-old mother) in front of her tiny house. Right, the home with the most love in the world. Sister Weldon and Sister Chung were introduced to Medan and his family after knocking on and teaching Medan's brother's family. And they just kept meeting more and more family members in this small neighborhood. Grandma made sure all her grown children (the first brother, Medan, and Sadam's husband) gave up smoking and drinking and joined the Church . Medan's 12-year-old daughter Debbie told us once that she wanted to be a missionary "Just like Sister Weldon" some day. And I'll never forget the night Debbie's mother said something in Iban to her husband, Medan, and then he translated for me "You remind us of Sister Weldon. Do you know her?" I just smiled and said "she was my first companion, in Kuching." He nodded as if that made all the sense in the world. But my favorite memory of this house was the night we were teaching Grandma's youngest son, a single 21 year old college student. We asked him if he would give the closing prayer, to which he replied he wasn't sure he knew how. Medan told him he could follow me, you know the kind of prayers parents have with three-year-olds, where the child repeats everything the parent says. My response was "No Medan, he'll follow your prayer." Then all 15 of us got up on our knees and this giant of a man led his little brother in the most beautiful Iban prayer. The spirit was so strong.

Sweet Music to My Ears

I'm actually grateful nothing has happened lately. This gives me a chance to write a "Thankful" post. I haven't done one of these for months. And you know what I'm Thankful for this Thursday, the hymns. I've been thinking about them a lot lately. They bring such peace to my soul. They truly are scripture put to beautiful music. Well, I'm going to share with you five hymns I am most thankful for and why.

1. Hymn #219, Because I Have Been Given Much.

It was the summer of 2000 and my mother's parents were quickly deteriorating into old age. My mom had a big question on her mind and in her heart. So of course she took this question to the Lord. She was debating between putting her parents in a home or bringing them into her own home to take care of them. One Sunday in sacrament meeting we sang this hymn with it's beautiful words "Because I have been given much I too must give . . . I cannot see another's lack and I not share . . . I shall give love to those in need." I remember looking over at my mother and wondering why she had tears in her eyes. Later she told me that hymn answered her prayers. Because her parents had given her so much, she too must give. And just a few weeks later my grandmother and grandfather were moved into our home. They didn't stay long, life took them shortly after they were situated. But I will always cherish the months they stayed with us. And I learned much from my mother. When the time comes for me to face the same questions I am certain I will also take my parents into my home to be cared for.

Jon and I with our grandparents at age four and two.

2. Hymn #134 I Believe In Christ

My Junior year of college was hands down the best. It was filled with ups and downs. Love and heartbreak. Questions and answers. And the greatest roommates of all time. One Sunday, shortly after I finally got my answer that I was to put in my mission papers, all six of us girls were sharing a pew when the closing hymn of Sacrament meeting was about to be sung. First, I must explain the Continental Ward is amazing. It has the highest activity rate of all the USU wards. And half the Institute Choir. Therefore, we sang beautifully as a congregation. I had always loved the hymn "I Believe in Christ" because of it's beautiful testimony of Christ, but this particular day the hymn was more beautiful than ever before. Three-hundred voices were booming with praise for our Savior. I looked to my roommate Gina with a smile and noticed tears in her eyes and she whispered to me, "I can't give the closing prayer like this," wipping tears from her eyes. I hugged her for reassurance, the hymn ended, and she walked to the pulpit and gave the most humbling group prayer I have ever heard. It was such a spiritual moment for all of us present. We were all moved by the spirit that day. It was amazing.

The greatest roommates ever. Emily, Janelle, Gina. Me, Michelle, and Jenny. They came down to Delta for my farewell. And Gina broke her foot while we were four wheeling together in Oak City canyon.

3. Hymn #98 I Need Thee Every Hour

Missionary work in Kuching, East Malaysia was a lot harder than I had expected. We rode our bikes hundreds of miles each week, in the humid jungle forest of Borneo Island. We had few investigators in the city of 1.2 million people. One of the two small branches was swamped with less active families who lived in the poorest neighborhood in the whole city - Batu Kawa RPR resettlement area. Each Friday morning started with a trip to visit all the less active families of this neighborhood. We road our bikes through the beauty of the jungle and into the filth of this neighborhood around 11:00 am. Just when I was thinking "I can't bike any further" we would reach the humble abode of Sister Bienna's family and find her three small children playing in what would be considered a front yard. Once the kids spotted us they would shout "Sister! Sister!" and start running after us as we biked towards Agatha and Juing's house. When they'd realize we weren't stopping at their house first they would start to sing, with flawless English "I need thee every hour most gracious Lord." They'd sing it from the top of their lungs, as they stood atop a giant mud hill. It was as if they were beckoning for us to come to their house first. The amazing part about this is that the family didn't speak English. But they could sing the whole song perfectly. It gave me chills every time. It was just the boost I needed to get through our morning visits to this poverty torn area.

Bienna and her family at Church. When I first arrived in Kuching her husband, Chundy wouldn't even greet us. By the time I left he was committed to baptism, I think it was little Gracie's singing that won him over.

4. Hymn #221 Dear to the Heart of the Shepherd
As I've already said, there were a lot of less actives in the Kuching 2nd Branch, many of which we didn't even have addresses for. The reason Batu Kawa RPR resettlement area was called "resettlement area" was because one weekend the government decided to uproot the whole neighborhood from one side of the city to the other. People had one day to build new houses on any flooded lot they could find in Batu Kawa. This panic caused the missionaries to lose contact with many recently baptized members, and almost a year later Sister Weldon and I studied the paper work on three young teenagers who were completely "lost" from missionary visits and branch contact.

It was a regular morning, and companionship study was about to start. We were tired of the same old hymns we always sung. So I flipped through my book to see if there was a hymn simple enough I could sight read it. I had never tried to sight read before, but all my years of piano practice pulled through when I was able to hum out the tune of "Dear to the Heart of the Shepherd." The words really struck us, especially the fourth verse "Off to the rescue we'll hasten, bringing them back to the fold." These words inspired us to fill the block of time we had open in the evening with "searching for the lost teenagers of Batu Kawa."

In the dark of the night we were biking down streets unknown to us, in the swamps of the resettlement area when out of no where a boy not much older than nine asked us "Are you looking for Esther Kho?"

"YES!!!" We shouted. How he knew that is beyond me. I guess the whole neighborhood was use to seeing two orang putei (white people) wander the streets and visiting the same old houses.

"She lives right there," said the young boy pointing to the house on the corner. We approached the door and asked to speak to Esther. She was so surprised to see us. And was eager to agree to meet us later on in the week. She also agreed to tell us where Elson Sim, her brother's best friend, lived. We road our bikes home on a cloud that night, singing the words to our newly learned hymn.

Esther Kho, Me and Esther's Muslim friend. Esther helped us find Elson Sim, another less active, and Jasmine Lee a long time investigator. Jasmine, her mother, and four of her sibblings were baptized after I left.

5. Hymn #152 God Be With You Till We Meet Again
It was my last evening in Kuching and I wanted to spend it with the Bail family. Sister Taburnal, my Filipina companion was willing to do whatever I wanted so we biked out to Desa Wira for one last visit with the Bails. We only found half the family at home, but they were eager to let us share and spend some time saying our goodbyes. We gave a short lesson and then asked what song they wanted to sing for closing and Sister Nosey looked at me with a smile and said "God be with you till we meet again Sister." I tried my best to sing the hymn, with one arm around Fransisca - their teenage daughter. As we wrapped up the hymn Sister Nosey asked me to say the closing prayer. It was so cruel, I was so emotional, but I knew the words of the hymn were true.

As we were mounting on our bikes I hugged Fransisca one last time and said "See you in the Celestial Kingdom." She smiled back at me and said "No, Lah." To which I grabbed her tightly and said "Yes, Lah. You are going to make it. Easier than you think." And I know she will make it. Fransisca Bail is one of the most pure teenagers I have ever known. I actually was fortunate enough to see her a year later at Youth Conference in Sibu. I'll never forget how quickly she ran to me when she spotted me. It was the sweetest hug I've ever received. And I had a gift for her. Two CTR rings. I told her one was for her and the other was for her best friend. Much to my surprise I saw her older brother Michael wearing the extra ring the next day. The Bail's always knew how to put family first. I love that girl and can't wait till I see her again.
Little Edward Juing, Tina (an investigator Fransisca fellowshipped) Me, Domie Bail and Fransisca Bail.