Missionary Monday

Dear Elder I,

Hello JD. I hope that you are doing well. I have been thinking about you so much lately, wondering where in the world you are now, if you’ve been planting any more palm trees, if you’ve had any more opportunities to teach “golden” investigators, etc. I’m sure a lot of investigators are golden—some just need more time to refine than others. I sure need a lot of refining. I’m glad that the Lord has patience with us.

Yesterday was an interesting Sunday. The husband left for meetings really early and didn’t get back to pick us up until five minutes before church started. I was doing my best not to be impatient, especially with myself. I couldn’t seem to find anything to wear and I was getting more and more flustered by the minute. I don’t know why. I stood there flinging through the dresses in my closet, feeling sorry that my little one just wanted to be held, that I hadn’t don’t a great job preparing for Primary’s singing time (a calling that I don’t technically have any more—it’s complicated) and that I was a little miffed that my husband wasn’t home yet (he had the car and I’m trying to be early for church these days…). So, when the hubby came through the door at five minutes to the hour I was relieved to see him, but I shot him a wide-eyed “what took so long” look. As we rushed out the door he apologized, explained that the meeting went extra long, and then went on about concerns that were much more substantial than my “what should I wear” worries. Clothes don’t matter. People do. I felt stupid and sorry that I had even cared about which skirt to put on.

I sat there at the beginning (well, partway through the opening song if you want to be technical) of the meeting trying to pinpoint what exactly I was feeling: ashamed—sort of; restless—yes; tired—always; sorry—yes; guilty—no. I think that we Mormons misuse the word guilty. At least, I do. I stick it to situations like being late for church or not making cutesie home-baked refreshments or not dressing up enough for meetings, as if I’ve committed a moral crime. Perhaps a cultural crime, but that’s not what is most important.

I need to be better at the basics, like Elder Uchtdorf said last October, “As we turn to our Heavenly Father and seek his wisdom regarding the things that matter most, we learn over and over again the importance of four key relationships: with our God, with our families, with our fellowmen and with ourselves.” I think that the last couple of months have thrown me off in a few of these areas. I’ve readjusted pretty well after baby J’s birth, but I’m still relearning how to use my time. If I try a little harder to be a little better at developing these relationships, I know that I’ll find more happiness and fulfillment in each day. I know that it will help me be a better wife and mother. I know that God can help me understand the person I am and who I can become.

I don’t know what you’re going through out there, but I hope you don’t get discouraged over things that are not the most important. Don’t follow my lead on that one. J I’m going to do better at focusing on the simple, most important thing in my life. In Oct. 2006 Elder Ballard gave a great talk about Jacob’s “O Be Wise” call. He said:

Brothers and sisters, may we focus on the simple ways we can serve in the kingdom of God, always striving to change lives, including our own. What is most important in our Church responsibilities is not the statistics that are reported or the meetings that are held but whether or not individual people—ministered to one at a time just as the Savior did—have been lifted and encouraged and ultimately changed. Our task is to help others find the peace and the joy that only the gospel can give them. In seven words, Jesus summarized how we can accomplish this. He said, “If ye love me, keep my commandments” (John 14:15).

I sure do love you JD! Thanks for your example and all that you are doing to bring peace and joy to others. I hope I can do the same out here, at the very least in my own family. That is what is most important.

Just so you know, I’m not this crazy every Sunday. Last week was much better. We got to take a loaf of our bread to church to be used for the sacrament. We went early and sat in the pews to watch the husband set things up. We talked about it a little, but I didn't really notice how much Atrain was soaking in until we got home from church. Atrain insisted on carrying the bag of left over bread in from the car. Then, when we got home he told me to sit down on the bench. He then told me to be reverent while he opened up the bag and passed me an entire slice. "I'm a sacrament boy," he said. "Just like dada." I hope he continues to see himself as a sacrament boy. Now we'll just have to work on saying prayers that are longer than, "Dear Heavenly Father...Amen!" Two steps forward, one step back, right.

I’m proud of you.

Love always,

MJ