I guess most people don’t know that much about Mormon missionaries. The New York Times has a guy on it, following around two LDS missionaries in Uganda. It’s sort of a follow-up from the controversial Broadway musical, The Book of Mormon. This time, it’s not Broadway, it’s the real show. It’s a great article, be sure to read it.
There are approximately 52,000 missionaries out there today — both young men and young women. No one is forced to go. I have had sons that served. It is a sweet time for a mom, but also a tough time. Missionaries can only call home twice a year, on Christmas and Mother’s Day. I got to talk for maybe an hour at each time. Emails are weekly, and a big improvement from the days of hand written letters delivered via the post. But, when you don’t get the weekly email, it’s easy to worry a little. You just wait. You let them go at age 19 for boys and 21 for women. Even though you know it is a rite of passage, a time of sacrifice, a time when your son and daughter will not focus on music, school, career or even themselves — it isn’t easy for either of you. They work long hours, from 6 am to 10:30 pm. They forgo all forms of entertainment. In fact, when my son came home he saw the new ipod and asked, mis-pronouncing it, “what’s this ipod (short i sound) thing?”
When my missionary son returned from Taiwan, he was not the same kid who had left — leaving his clothes around, or sitting around playing video games. He continued to get up at 6 am, run 5 miles, study his Chinese, the scriptures and help out. He organized my files, helped his brother, and most noticeably, he listened when people talked. He paid attention and listened so attentively. If he started to talk at the same time as me, he would say, “excuse me, go ahead.” He learned to be calm in stressful situations, not panic or get angry (like when he got his wallet stolen).
One of my other sons served in Moldova, speaking Russian. This was a country that was a little tricky. The missionaries could not wear name badges, identifying them as elders from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints — they ran a school, teaching English to the native people. They were one country away from the mission president (who lived in Romania) and my son had to travel 12 hours to meet with him and carry money over the border to pay for the missionaries rent.
On his first week there, while trudging along in the icy snow sidewalk, he slipped backwards, hitting his head, lost consciousness and when he regained it, he didn’t know where he was. He didn’t share this with me until about a year later — don’t worry mom. I’m thankful he was protected somehow and suffered no permanent damage. That’s when you rely on the blessings of the priesthood, as that was the only course they had in Moldova.  His missionary companion gave him a blessing. There were no doctors. These are the kind of things you don’t worry about, but nonetheless, it is in the back of your mind, things that happen. And that’s why that weekly email becomes so comforting.
Some have better missions than others, and not all return with strengths, but overall, most do and most look back on it as one of the valuable years of sacrifice and learning.
The Return is sweet:
Some missionary jobs, are not too sweet (clean up at the building where they hold church, ahh, so that’s why the toilet upstairs isn’t working)