The Desire to Serve
At the age of 19, I was very unsure of myself and what my future held. But, being a dutiful son and member of my church, I chose to serve a two-year full-time mission. On March 1st, 1980, I was called to serve in the Chile Concepcion mission.
A full-time mission was a new start for me. My first new companions and roommates in the Missionary Training Center knew nothing about me, other than like them, I had a desire to serve the Lord. I cherished that new start and set out to make the best of it.
At first, I was a bit timid and unsure of myself. I was secluded away from all the glory one receives when you are called to the work and it was now time to shut up and put up. I questioned my beliefs and the motivation for my decision to serve. I prayed earnestly with an intent to know for myself what I should do and believe. A strong spiritual manifestation soon came and I then dug in with all my might.
I soon became the overachiever. The one who got up an hour earlier than the rest and sat on the cold floor in the hallway outside our dorm room studying while the rest slept. I was bent on memorizing all of the discussions in Spanish before leaving the MTC. During our physical fitness class, I pushed myself like never before, craving to be in the best shape possible. I read and studied Spanish for countless hours, night and day.
Once in Chile, and especially in the latter part of my mission, that attitude followed me. I worked hard, had systems in place to find more people to teach, and ran a tight schedule. Some days we taught as many as seven or eight discussions. Mighty successes followed. I fell in love with the work and the people I served. As I watched lives change, my own life changed. I felt good about myself and my work
The last six months of my mission were spent in the city of Talca. There had been very little success in that city in months, even years in some of the sectors. The mission president transferred me and several other hard-working missionaries in and transferred the current Senior Companions out. We had no idea of the reputation of Talca. We just went to work. Towards the end of the six months there, our little district of six missionaries were having baptism meetings twice a week, followed by celebratory trips to the ice cream store. Other missionaries at times were sent to work with us for a few nights to see how we found success. Things were going very well when it came time to go home and I felt like my young life was already accomplished.
I wasn't a perfect missionary. I made stupid 19-year-old mistakes that I regret, and yet have not let them define me. I was, however, incredibly successful. I found myself. I was good at being a missionary and I loved being one. Especially the part where I could first-hand watch other people's lives change for the better. It was amazingly satisfying.
The first leg of my long flight home included a short flight from Concepcion to Santiago. Part way through the flight, the pilot announced that we were passing over the city of Talca. I peered out the window and easily made out the boundaries of streets of the city I had grown to love. I could see the streets in my sector. The block where the chapel stood where we conducted so many baptism meetings. I thought of my people down there. And my companions, my brothers. I was heart-broken to be leaving them and the work that I had become so good at and enjoyed so much. With tears streaming down my face, I promised myself that I would come back. Not just to Chile, but to missionary work itself.
Once at home I found there were several things I was very good at. Scoutmastering. Managing and growing a fledgling business. Organizing a box of crumpled receipts into a tax return or financial statement in a way that saves my clients money. Public speaking. But the desire to go back to missionary work has never left. The desire to provide service to change hearts has always been there. The plan to return has always been there. The time first just needed to be right.
A full-time mission was a new start for me. My first new companions and roommates in the Missionary Training Center knew nothing about me, other than like them, I had a desire to serve the Lord. I cherished that new start and set out to make the best of it.
At first, I was a bit timid and unsure of myself. I was secluded away from all the glory one receives when you are called to the work and it was now time to shut up and put up. I questioned my beliefs and the motivation for my decision to serve. I prayed earnestly with an intent to know for myself what I should do and believe. A strong spiritual manifestation soon came and I then dug in with all my might.
I soon became the overachiever. The one who got up an hour earlier than the rest and sat on the cold floor in the hallway outside our dorm room studying while the rest slept. I was bent on memorizing all of the discussions in Spanish before leaving the MTC. During our physical fitness class, I pushed myself like never before, craving to be in the best shape possible. I read and studied Spanish for countless hours, night and day.
Once in Chile, and especially in the latter part of my mission, that attitude followed me. I worked hard, had systems in place to find more people to teach, and ran a tight schedule. Some days we taught as many as seven or eight discussions. Mighty successes followed. I fell in love with the work and the people I served. As I watched lives change, my own life changed. I felt good about myself and my work
The last six months of my mission were spent in the city of Talca. There had been very little success in that city in months, even years in some of the sectors. The mission president transferred me and several other hard-working missionaries in and transferred the current Senior Companions out. We had no idea of the reputation of Talca. We just went to work. Towards the end of the six months there, our little district of six missionaries were having baptism meetings twice a week, followed by celebratory trips to the ice cream store. Other missionaries at times were sent to work with us for a few nights to see how we found success. Things were going very well when it came time to go home and I felt like my young life was already accomplished.
I wasn't a perfect missionary. I made stupid 19-year-old mistakes that I regret, and yet have not let them define me. I was, however, incredibly successful. I found myself. I was good at being a missionary and I loved being one. Especially the part where I could first-hand watch other people's lives change for the better. It was amazingly satisfying.
The first leg of my long flight home included a short flight from Concepcion to Santiago. Part way through the flight, the pilot announced that we were passing over the city of Talca. I peered out the window and easily made out the boundaries of streets of the city I had grown to love. I could see the streets in my sector. The block where the chapel stood where we conducted so many baptism meetings. I thought of my people down there. And my companions, my brothers. I was heart-broken to be leaving them and the work that I had become so good at and enjoyed so much. With tears streaming down my face, I promised myself that I would come back. Not just to Chile, but to missionary work itself.
Once at home I found there were several things I was very good at. Scoutmastering. Managing and growing a fledgling business. Organizing a box of crumpled receipts into a tax return or financial statement in a way that saves my clients money. Public speaking. But the desire to go back to missionary work has never left. The desire to provide service to change hearts has always been there. The plan to return has always been there. The time first just needed to be right.
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