Even though it’s impossible to wrap my head around the fact that, somehow, my baby girl is going on a mission, I find myself in the strange position right now of waiting for her call to arrive. Hence today’s Sabbath Revival post, originally published September 25, 2006 by Melissa Y.  Can you relate?

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I have never really wanted to serve a mission. As a child, I remember secretly feeling glad (though slightly wicked) I was a girl because it meant I did not “have” to go on a mission. Even in those tender years I could tell that childbirth would be no picnic, and the reprieve from missionary service felt like a balancing weight in the scale of fairness.

I think my feelings were due, in part, to my natural shyness. Even through my college years I much preferred to listen in the shadows of conversation than actively participate. I envied girls like Christine Anne Vick (When Hard is Just Hard), who were outgoing and willing to speaking their minds. Perhaps that is why I appreciate her courage in sharing the difficulties she had on her mission. In my immaturity, I somehow thought that missionary service was tied to personality traits, and I simply did not have the right traits. I would not have guessed that someone like her would have had an experience like that. More openness about what a mission truly involves might help us all appreciate the sacrifices of those who serve, as well as helping those who are preparing to go.

As an adult, I have tried to catch the vision of missionary service. There are times when the grand scale of the gospel—the reality of the kingdom of God and the potential to save souls—actually sinks in and I am overwhelmed. I do want to shout from the rooftops “Yes! This is the truth! Please, come and learn!” But the routine of life creeps back in, along with the sense that the few non-member neighbors I do have are tired of people trying to convert them.

It’s easy in our goal-oriented society, to think of missionary work (or conversion) as a target—we either hit it or we don’t. I’m trying to learn how to think of it as an attitude, part of the larger work of living the gospel generally. For me, living the gospel also involves respecting non-members’ beliefs and realizing that I can learn from them.

I often think of Alma and the sons of Mosiah and their desire to serve missions among a people who hated them. What a bittersweet time for king Mosiah and the elder Alma, who had prayed for their sons to return to the fold. Yet the return they sought brought about a change in the course of their sons’ lives—a change that involved sacrifice, physical and emotional pain, danger, and potential death. I’m sure the boys would have had a much safer and more comfortable life as sinners. But once they had felt the reality of the Atonement, and the power and love of the Savior, they “were desirous that salvation should be declared to every creature, for they could not bear that any human soul should perish; yea, even the very thoughts that any soul should endure endless torment did cause them to quake and tremble” (Mos. 28:3). Every soul became precious, worth every effort to save.

So I am left wondering about myself. Do I, as Sis. Parkin has said, feel the love of the Lord in my life? If so, does this love compel me to reach out to others? Do I see people as the precious souls they are? Does my defensive neighbor feel like I care about her? Do I care about her? And how do I balance the eleventh Article of Faith with missionary work? I think my reprieve might be over . . .


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