My new scene at the Mission
Training Center began with crowds of eager and anxious strangers. Family members and new missionaries shared a few parting tears, smiles, concerns for well-being, but mostly, lots of hugs all the way around. After our
orientation meeting, Clark and I headed towards the back door with the other
missionaries to get our nametags and meet our first companions. I miraculously managed not to cry as I
waved goodbye to Mom, Dad, and brother Bryan, who were there to see us
off. I was way too excited to
weep.
My stay at the MTC was two months
long--the exact period of training required by the Spanish government before
granting any foreign missionary entrance into their country. In the absence of home and family, stamped
envelopes from far-away loved ones are to missionaries like red roses are to a
hopeless romantic (thankfully a little more frequent, though). While I was in the MTC, one blessed
letter came to me from Romania. It
was from one of my former BYU roommates who had been serving her own full-time
mission for six months already.
"It is so great that you are
making this sacrifice for the Lord and for our brothers and sisters that you
will soon teach in Spain," she said to me, after updating me on her recent
missionary work "in the field."
"I don't see how anyone could
consider this a sacrifice," I wrote on my hand-made stationery in reply to
her letter. "My experience
here in the MTC has been so amazing.
I have never been happier in my life."
She would understand what I meant. She had completed her training as well
at the Provo, Utah campus (a next-door neighbor to the BYU campus). Its brick buildings overflowed with
thousands of disciples whose principal goal was to learn how to become the most
effective instruments in the Lord’s hands as possible.
Training consisted of role playing,
attending cultural and spiritual lectures, engaging in intense language study,
daily exercise, weekly temple worship, and being mentored by caring
returned-missionary instructors.
There, my testimony of the basics of the gospel reached peaks that I
never realized were possible. All
of this practice and guidance sent me well on my way to a confident beginning.
The obvious difference between my
Romanian counterpart and me was that I was still safe in the preparatory
shelter, and she was putting her training into practice out in the secular
world. My innocent words of
disbelief probably made her smirk as she contemplated my inevitable awakening
once I arrived on Spanish soil.
---
Cupid dragged his feet when it came
to leaving his favorite customer alone, mission or no mission. He waited closely in the wings, teasing
me occasionally with his gentle prods...but I like to think I always came out
the victor. Fortunately, his arrow
never completely breached the fragile force field around my heart.
Before I got to the field, I
learned how to use the "straight arm" approach on any well-meaning
male Spaniard. We would offer a sincere handshake as a greeting in place of their innocent besitos--kisses for each cheek, so as to maintain an appropriate distance from the beginning.
(That worked well in Spain, except for that one time I met a middle-aged
male stranger on the street whose lightning lips caught my cheeks
off-guard...oops!)
I also faced a challenge in
associating closely with the fantastic young men serving alongside me. I gained practice early during my MTC
days in fending off any tempting romantic hindrance. I can't say I was the quickest at shutting down imposing
twinges of attraction, but I tried, and always managed it eventually.
16 June 1995:
Here's something that bothered me
today. There is a certain elder
here at the MTC who has caught my eye.
I don't even remember his name, but he talked with my companion and me one day in the cafeteria line.
Now, every time I see him lately I watch him and think, "He's very
attractive," or "I'd like to talk to him and find out more about
him," or "I think he seems like my type," or something like
that. Ugh! And there’s one more thing. Maybe it's my imagination, but I'm
pretty sure he has noticed me just as much. It seems like we've made an awful lot of eye contact lately,
like maybe he watches me too [*cough*
Sneaking Peeks *cough*].
Grrr! I don't want to be
like this! It's not possible for
me to mix dating feelings or I mean attraction feelings or
whatever-you-want-to-call-them-feelings with mission feelings--they DON'T
MIX! So it bothers me that this is
happening here.
Thankfully, after a few pleasant
and borderline flirty conversations with this exhilarating young man, he
departed for Guatemala less than two weeks after I met him. He left me with his mission address, I
sent him one letter in the mail, he never replied, and that was the end of
that. Whew! Distraction canceled.
Throughout the mission, I drew
strength knowing that other missionaries had their barriers set up too. One sister with whom I lived in Spain
shared with me her own experience with escaping the falling part, and it stuck
with me.
"I served with one elder that
I fell for completely,” she said.
“I eventually decided that the battle between my longing for him and my
wanting to focus on the mission was too hard. So I asked the mission president for a transfer. Can I tell you what happened when I
finally managed to get away and stop letting him consume my thoughts?"
"What?" I listened, all
ears.
"I felt like a missionary
again."
That was what I wanted, too. I did my best to keep attractions in
check. I never needed to ask for a
transfer, and enjoyed instead all of the honorable friendships I made. For me, sacrificing the indulgence of
allowing a crush to develop was often a conscious and difficult decision, but
it was always, always worth it.
--
The challenges of my mission ranged
from small to great. I struggled
to overcome exhaustion from working and walking long days. I tolerated months of anxiety-born
stomachaches. Approaching
strangers in the park to share messages from the scriptures only got easier
over time. I spoke Spanish better
than many new missionaries did, but I was by no means fluent in the beginning,
so I relied on my companions for conversation help for several months.
Once I got over my jet lag, I
gradually adjusted to the unfamiliar Spanish schedule. Spaniards indulge in a later nightlife
than most North Americans do, so we worked (didn’t come home) until 10:30
p.m. Bedtime was at 11:15, and
then our alarms were ordered to go off each day at 6:45 a.m. Another adjustment with the schedule
included long rests in the middle of the day. The two-hour-long mediodÃa gave us time for lunch, extra study, and occasionally a nap, but
eliminated the dinner break I was used to. I asked my first companion, “When do we eat dinner?” Her response stopped me dead in my
tracks, “We don’t.” We just made
sure to leave the house at 4:00 p.m. with enough in our bellies to tide us over
until the end of the day.
I figured out how to live without
certain comforts that I hadn’t realized were luxuries. I instantly gained a new appreciation for missing amenities such as a shower, a clothes dryer, carpet, air conditioning, and central heating. Sometimes
during our morning scripture study, I boiled a couple of big pans of water on
the stove to add to my bath so the warm water could be almost hot. I modified my daily diet to fit the
different staples they had in their grocery stores. Meals with the natives were infrequent, but always a treat. My palate learned to adapt to the
funny-tasting milk that can be stored on a shelf without refrigeration, and
grew fond of several new types of seafood. I never came around to liking squid in its ink over rice
though. Once was enough for me.
None of these challenges, however,
outweighed the blessings. My
mission refined my own character as I learned to adopt a new culture as my
own. I saw lives improve as people
embraced the joys of living the gospel.
My views of the people changed from "Spaniards are just so different
from me," to "I have so much to learn from these people; I love them
more than life itself." I
will also forever treasure the special bond I formed with my Savior. I learned to rely on His guidance as we
worked as partners to show love to Heavenly Father's children in countless
ways.
I dedicated my imperfect efforts as
best as I possibly could to building the Lord's kingdom in Spain until my
full-time calling was through. I
came home a bit worn out, but felt fulfilled in my service. My long journey home finally brought me
to the Las Vegas airport the week before Christmas (which timing in itself was
the best Christmas blessing ever).
I loved my mission, even though it was hard. Very hard.
Someday I hope to revisit the cherished part of my self that I left
behind with the people I love on the other side of the world.
