Mission: Inexplicable

Four years ago today, I returned home from serving my full-time mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints in Orlando Florida; the most magical mission on Earth. I suppose to those who have not served a mission, no words can adequately express my feelings regarding mine, however, I feel that sharing a few thoughts about my experiences both on my mission and since I've been home may help to highlight one or two important issues that we all face at some point in our lives. Or perhaps the fact that I have never really written about my mission since I returned will serve me more than any other, to characterize and sort out for myself what the experience really meant. Either way, I expect that both reader and author will grow a little, in clarity and understanding.

In many ways, missions share common ground with what might be labeled the 'workplace'. Perhaps that is because certain organizations use the same sort of structure in their workforce, causing some people to confuse missionaries with FBI agents or police detectives. Assigned partners, dress and grooming standards, even standard-issue day-planners. With so many external similarities, one would not be surprised to find some internal similarities as well. Relationships between missionaries can function in the same way they do in the workplace. Unfortunately, this can prove to be a negative force on a young and impressionable missionary with preconceived notions.

Growing up in Calgary, I always thought that missionaries were the best people on the planet. The only thing keeping them from being translated into angels and flying straight up to heaven was that they had a job to do here among us. Teach people the gospel. I figured that was what they did all day everyday. No other option for spending time entered my mind for these people. Not only did they DO missionary work all the time, they must have THOUGHT about it all the time too. For me, this was what a missionary was. Needless to say, when it was getting close to being my turn to go on my own mission, my excitement knew no limits. I thought I was going on the adventure of a lifetime, that I would have the chance to become someone I had always wanted to be. To do the work of the Lord with others just like me. And to watch the hand of the Lord work the many miracles that I had always heard mission stories filled with. It took about four days for me to realize that there is a side of the mission that is in itself very different than what I had expected, and it shook me harder than an earthquake.

Not all missionaries are good missionaries.

The notion that some missionaries are careless, lazy, disobedient, and even unworthy, which thing I never had supposed, was the strongest force against me on my mission. It started out in the Missionary Training Center, where for the short space of three weeks, I was appointed District Leader over two districts, the District Leader of the other having already chosen to go home. I was a little overwhelmed at first, wondering what a District Leader's responsibilities in the MTC were, but decided to take it on, and do my best, since this was the only time in my life that it would ever happen. That is, I think, how I would best describe my feeling toward my whole mission at the time: This is only going to happen once, so make it great! However, a position of seeming responsibility like that of a District Leader does not mean much to a group, when said position is only to remain in effect for three weeks. When I began experimenting with being a leader, at first by making suggestions to the district about how we should be making use of our self-directed block of time, or Missionary-Directed Time, I quickly found that such leadership was neither asked for, nor particularly wanted, and that attempting to be a leader had significant negative consequences.

Nothing had changed eighteen months through my mission, when I was a Zone Leader in the Cocoa Zone during the summer of 2006. There was still resentment of leadership among the missionaries, even some of the District Leaders, but I had not changed either. I found that as a leader, I had a monumental choice to make, which would have far-reaching implications for the rest of my mission. I could either seek the approval of my fellow missionaries, which meant slacking on the rules, and trying to be like them, or I could seek the approval of the Mission President, and I suppose one could extend that to the approval of the Lord, since He called the President in the first place. This would mean not only obeying the rules, but working actively to help the other missionaries obey the rules. I can safely say that it was my upbringing that made the decision for me. I had always been taught to be on the right side, and to have the right people on your side. It made sense to me that the other missionaries, though they might be on my side, could never help me with the work the way the Lord could. And I was there to work. It was my choice, my money, my time. I chose to seek the approval of the President. Immediately, I saw the zone divide, along party lines as it were. My fellow missionaries had also made their own decisions. It was about fifty-fifty. Half of the zone hated me, the other half liked me. The half that hated me, when I tried to be their leader, would tell me things like "I'm not a numbers missionary", or "I just do my work, leave me alone about it", or my personal favorite, "You're just aspiring". I had never had a word which meant so many good things to me before my mission, be used against me to describe something that I was doing apparently wrong. The cognitive dissonance was infuriating.

The feelings of the MTC came rushing back to me. How dare they, I thought, accuse me of wrongdoing, when all I AM doing is trying to help them make the most of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?! I never got used to people intentionally not liking me. In trying to reason it out, I figured, everyone aspires to something. I'm just aspiring to be a good missionary. But no one believes that, when you are on a mission. There is always talk of position, status, titles, etc. The worst was the title and position of Assistant to the President. Funny, because you would think that is what all the missionaries are, but this was different. No sound-thinking missionary would dare want to be an Assistant, because of the immediate isolation from the rest of the group. That is basically what any position of leadership in the mission feels like. You become isolated by your title from the other missionaries, and if you are not viewed as one of them, then you certainly are not treated as one of them. Many leaders in the mission did not want to be called as leaders, and therefore tried with all their energy to remain part of the group. They achieved what they aspired to: sameness. Unity with the group at the expense of personal standards. I feel achieved what I aspired to: doing what I was told, and trying to help others do the same.

The pain of being rejected by the group that was supposed to be my family for two years never went away, but I had made my decision, and was not about to turn back. I gave up caring about what the group thought, and soon found that there were indeed missionaries like me out there. This was the greatest help to me. I could tell within seconds of meeting a missionary in my zone which half he was part of. The ones who liked me did not care that I was the zone leader any more than the ones who hated me, they just wanted to hear what I had to tell them. They responded quickly to any call, and with enthusiasm. They reported to me before I had to call them and ask them to. They looked for solutions to problems, and answers to questions. The fact that I was their zone leader had no effect on them, nor did it need to. In their minds, I was just like them, only with more work to do, and part of that work was to help them. I was not a bad guy, who was always chasing them about numbers, I was their best friend, because I had answers, and suggestions, and experience that could really improve their work.

No missionary is perfect, both sides of the aisle made mistakes. The difference between the two kinds of missionary was that the one made the mistake because he did not care and was not trying, whereas the other made the mistake because he did care and was trying. It was much easier to work with that kind of missionary, and although it was never my place to forgive, it was so much easier to forgive them when they did make mistakes. This taught me about how it must be with our Heavenly Father. He knows perfectly well that we will all make mistakes. That is why He provided for the Savior to perform the Atonement, and then goes on to COMMAND us to repent. It must be so easy for Him to forgive us when we are sincerely trying to do what is right, and come to Him for help.

After my time in the Cocoa zone, I was transferred to the Stuart zone, which ended up being my favorite zone and my favorite transfer of my entire mission. The zone was full of the kind of missionaries that wanted to work. We became a family instantly, and saw miracle after miracle after miracle, which is what I believe every missionary wants to see happen on their mission. I think the Lord placed me in that situation so that I could see how missionary work could be done, and so that I could then take what I had learned to my next area, which was, I think the worst area of my mission, and also happened to be my last. It was not the worst area because of the members, or anything like that. It was that I went from a zone of complete unity, where every interaction between the missionaries felt familial, to one where over half of the missionaries, I believe, wanted to have me shot. After everything I had seen and experienced, you would think that I would have been able to handle that, but I am ashamed to say that it took me down. I was discouraged, and for the first time in my mission, I wanted to come home. I slowed down, and did not try as hard. I lost the fire. It was like finding out what I had in the first four days at the MTC all over again, and it was just too much for me. I did find happiness in the few friends I had in the zone, and in the work I was doing with the Spanish-speaking people in that area, but I was exhausted.

I look back on my mission and the decision I made to stay on the side of the Mission President and the Lord, and I see now that it has defined my leadership roles ever since. I have no regrets regarding that decision, nor any other that was made based upon it. I do not envision myself ever choosing otherwise for the rest of my life. That determination in itself is one of the greatest rewards I have received from serving my mission.

It is unfortunate that not all missionaries who are called choose to be their best. It is sad to see a missionary choose to go home before his time is finished. It is painful to be despised for doing what you have always been taught was right and by those who have been taught the same. But the stability, security, and dedication that come from the voluntary and willful choice to continue despite the fact is worth all the negativity associated with the process of discovering it. For this and many other reasons, my mission was the most important thing I have ever done. It has already completely influenced the course of my life for the better.