Missionary

Roots

In this photo, I am enfolded into a massive, grounded embrace in the roots of a ceiba tree. The roots here are at least 15 feet tall and surprising, giving you the sense that you are standing in something undeniably ancient, as if it grew to surround you and pass on a message.

People have passed on this message descending back into time. These magnificent trees grow in a swath of tropical lands, about the same latitudes between Central America, Mexico and the Caribbean Islands and extending all the way south to the Amazon. In the religion of the Taino people, Puerto Rico’s indigenous people, these trees connected the worlds so souls could climb from this world up to the heavens.

The Aztec, Maya and other pre-Columbian Mesoamerican cultures also found sacred significance in these trees which were believed to be a link between heaven, earth, and the world that was believed to exist below.

It is compelling that roots have that spiritual pull to people, because we are finding in the mission that family roots have that same pull. It is ironic that in grounding us, they finally give us the power to look up.

I thought I already knew this about the power of finding your roots, but it was really borne home to us this last week.

We live in a little, concrete Puerto Rican home that has an Airbnb on either side. These are tiny places, about as wide as large hallway, and it means that every few days, someone new is there. One day recently, Scot took the garbage out, and came upon a woman and her grown daughter. I will call her Carmen.

Carmen was crying and upset because someone had just backed into her brand new rental car and Scot arrived on the scene just in time to examine the mishap and determine that her car wasn’t really damaged enough to worry. Yet her tears continued, relentless rivulets down her cheeks. She had just come from Florida to remember the anniversary of her Grandmother’s death, and she couldn’t stop crying.

Scot invited her into our home to hear her story. She was a soul disconnected. Her mother died in an automobile accident when she was five, and she had no details. She hadn’t met her father until she was in her thirties as he had gone on to marry several wives and have siblings that she did not know. Her grandmother mattered so much to her because she had been the only stable influence in her life. Still, this grandmother, who Carmen remembered as the only person who had loved her, was not that stable and succumbed to pressure from a brother and turned Carmen out into the streets when she was 13.

By the time she was 21, she had three children. “Nobody had ever taught me right from wrong,” she wailed.

Tears continued to pour. She had been like a loose marble in a box, shaken around, knocking into others, but not connecting.

We said, “Would you like to know about your family?” She agreed.

It took almost no time for us to find her mother’s death certificate, that contained all of her vital information. “I never knew my mother’s birth date,” she said. A few relatives were on the page.

Her spirit began to lighten. Tears evaporated.

Next, we turned to her father, and found a photo from a plaque at his death, giving us a birth and death date. We plugged all the information into FamilySearch, and like magic, 11 generations rolled out before us, leading from his line.

In her family, she had grandparents and great grandparents. She had cousins and aunts and uncles. Though, of course, most of these were long-since in the Spirit World, she was connected to so many—and she saw it. She smiled with amazement. Her spirit grew light. Joy was invited and entered the room. Everything was transformed.

She had a place. “I go to prepare a place for you.”

Never did I suppose that someone could travel from being disconnected and alone, to feeling the well-being of some connection so quickly. Oh, the power of family history, deeper, broader, more ancient than a ceiba tree which is only the symbol of the importance of our roots.

Carmen wants both to know how to find her generations for herself and the missionaries to come and see her when she is home again in Florida, and we marveled. If Scot had taken the garbage out five minutes earlier or five minutes later, we would have missed her. The Lord knows perfectly how to orchestrate events to bless his children, and for the two hours we were together that day, we saw it yet again.

Kerry Muhlstein has a new book coming out called The Easter Connection: Made Whole with God Through Christ. In his introduction, he speaks of loving the series called Relative Race where, people are searching for their roots, and very often their biological parents. Dr. Muhlestein writes:

Often the motivation for finding their genetic relatives is two-fold. Typically, they would like to better understand who they are, and they feel their genetics play a key role in this.  Further, for many, there is a desire to know why they were separated from their biological family.  For many, the question about separation stems from wondering why they were “abandoned” by their birth parents.  This feeling of abandonment has often played a powerful role in their lives and has been a key factor in how they negotiate their self-view.  I find myself weeping with so many participants as they learn that family members had not forgotten them  or  that  these  family  members  had  long  been  searching  for  them.  Tremendous healing seems to come from learning that they belong and that others always wanted them to be part of their families and their lives. This healing seems to happen on a level so integral and base to their souls that it is hard to fully appreciate or understand. Though I have never gone through this experience myself, I never tire of feeling the healing and  whole-making  experience  via  proxy  as I watch these stirring scenes take place again and again.

Healing is perhaps not the right word for me, for I was not wounded, yet I seem to be healed nonetheless. I did not go through such separation; I have not felt abandoned in that way; I have not wondered about belonging to a family.  Still, I sense within my soul  a  beautiful  and  visceral  reaction  that  I  can  only  describe as being healed when I wasn’t wounded and being made whole when I had not been divided.

I have deeply pondered this reaction. I am left to conclude that there is some part of me that was indeed wounded and divided.  I came to realize that there is some part of all of  us  that  has  experienced  a  deep  and  painful  separation—our  separation  from  God.  This is the basic injury experienced by all humanity.  No matter how happy and well and whole we are, we  still  walk  around  with  a deep wound that affects us, whether we realize it or not. There is a rift in our souls because there is a fracture in the most important relationship we have ever had.  From the beginning of our fallen world, we have had to  deal  with  a  shattering  separation,  a  loss  so  great  that  it  changes  our  natures  and  shapes  our  souls.  The only way to be healed from this, our most primal wound, is to be reunified with God.

A woundedness lies inside of us because we yearn for God. What we miss here is not only our home, but ourselves and our truest identity. We miss Him. We miss home. Finding our roots awakens something familiar within us that inhabits that same spiritual space. Give me my roots and you begin to give me back to God. Our visit with Carmen taught us that in a more profound way.

The Dog Ate our Car 

We have all heard the old excuse about not turning in a school assignment because, “My dog ate my homework.” We have a new twist on this in the Puerto Rican mission and it is not an excuse, but a reality.

One set of sister missionaries looked much chagrinned when we ran into them the other day at the office. When they came out in the morning to start their regular day, they found that their car was terribly damaged. Electric wires were scattered on the street. The bumper was loose and mostly pulled off. The headlight was wonky and didn’t work.

Who could have done this? They could have resorted to scripture and said, “An enemy hath done this.” Instead, the police told them that it was probably done by a pack of wild dogs, chasing either an iguana or a cat, that using some desperate wits, jumped behind the tire of the car to hide.

The dogs were crazed at that point, working as a frenzied pack, and trying to get the small animal they chased, took their fury out on the car.

Meanwhile, we are happy to say that the sisters slept happily through it, safely tucked in their beds, but, at least for a week, we are down a car in our mission.

Teaching the New Converts 

Scot and I love picnics in the forest, hiking in the mountains, gorgeous sunsets, watching the waves break along the shore, and, of course, the utter deliciousness of reading a book. Yet, there is nothing we love more than teaching the gospel, and as it turns out, one of our favorite teaching opportunities is upon us right now. So, of course, we are joyful about it.

We get to teach gospel essentials and temple preparation to the new converts in our ward—and right now we have a class of four. If ever there was a celestial moment right here on earth for us, this is it, because it brings so forcibly to our souls what an incomparable gift we have in being given knowledge of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Our new friends, who are precious to us, have lived a good chunk of their lives, relatively clueless about who they are and what the Lord has done for them. So, they listen and discuss the topics with shining eyes. They are absorbent. They are joyful. They can’t get enough.

Absorbent means there is no resistance in them because the Word is pleasing, familiar. It’s something they brought with them, hidden behind the veil in their souls. “Oh yes,” they seem to say.” I always knew that.” It is entirely new to me and old at the same time.

The Spirit is strong.

We started by talking about the plan of salvation, beginning in the pre-mortal world. We were born in light. We lived in light. We are the very, actual children of Deity. “Doesn’t something inside of you tell you that you always were, that you didn’t suddenly burst into existence in a hospital one day?”

They see it. They know this is true.

The Lord told Jeremiah, “Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee; and before thou camest forth out of the womb I sanctified thee, and I ordained thee a prophet unto the nations” (Jer. 1:5)

We mention Orson F. Whitney’s words about the pre-mortal world. “Why are we drawn toward certain persons and they to us as if we had always known each other? Is it a fact that we always have? Is there something after all in that much-abused term affinity?”

“This is you,” we tell them, “connected to God, connected to others.” You have a deep well inside of you, you’ve never been able to access because it is hidden by a veil.

We speak of God’s plan and one who stepped forward to enact that plan. Who would that be?

“Was it….Jesus?” one class member said, a little tentatively. “Yes, yes it was.” Everyone is happy, so thankful for a Firstborn Son with such power, love and goodness that He could do this for us.

We describe the rebellion in heaven and the war that followed. We told them they had born witness of the Father’s plan to others, that they had been brave and true. That’s why the gospel was attractive to them now.

The class ended way too soon. “How soon can we do this again?” they asked, and one even clapped her hands joyously just like the people did at the Waters of Mormon.

This was the beauty of pure doctrine distilling upon their souls. Nothing is more powerful. Doctrine creates identity because you begin to get a glimpse of who you were and have always been.

They wrote back that they couldn’t wait for the next class, that they LOVED it.

We who have had the gospel in our lives can’t forget what a hidden treasure it is, how the mountains are moved and the rivers rejoice and multitudes kneel at the sound of their Creator’s voice and what it means to know you are really His child.

We loved seeing the sheer wonder of the gospel fall upon their heads and we rejoiced together at the gift it is, more precious than all the hidden treasures of the earth. It was such a privilege to see this.

“For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them” (Matt. 18:20).

Valentines and Secret Admirers

When our children were young, on Valentines we delivered some kind of chocolate to the door with a Valentine from their Secret Admirer. This Secret Admirer wrote on a paper heart some of the great qualities that child exhibited. Of course, Scot and I would think carefully about each child and put those notes together and then leaving the note and chocolate on the doorstep, ring the doorbell, and run like crazy. and hide (we hope none of our children read this or they may discover who that Secret Admirer was after all).

It was such a little thing, but our children have always remembered it, and mentioned it again this Valentines as a favorite tradition when they were growing up.

Just before Valentines, this year, Scot and I had just dragged ourselves by the chocolate and cookies at Costco, weighing the idea of whether we should take a Secret Admirer Valentines to each of the young missionary companionships in our zone. It had kind of popped into each of our minds that might be a good thing, but we decided that delivering Valentines was impossible because our missionaries were spread all over San Juan. What’s more, we had no ideas about how to present a chocolate variety to each missionary. We didn’t know the stores well enough to find fun packaging. We looked at each other, hesitated, and decided the idea was a bit grandiose to pull off for 28 missionaries.

We found the shortest line and were working our way up to the cashier, when both of us looked at each other again—and then back to the candy offerings that a secret admirer might give a missionary. We were hooked. Hesitate once, and it might just be your over eager personality at work, but that second hesitation make us stop, pull out of line (after we had waited some time) and begin to grab the big boxes of fun cookies and candy we could give the young missionaries for Valentines.

We stopped by Walmart the next day, looking for some decorative bag or some colored paper or just about anything to signify the holiday. Yet, Walmart was a mad house. We could neither find a park nor the way to negotiate our cart down the aisle. The store offered no bags, ribbon, Valentine cards—nothing, as I am sure they had been picked over long ago.

This demanded imagination and invention (and an acceptance that our Valentine might look quite meager.) We finally decided on gallon Ziploc bags. We found one container of pink paper plates in a sea of white ones. We found a Valentines banner that had miniature pom poms all over it, just waiting to have all those ribbons cut off and stuffed into our bags.

Best of all, we found that Elder and Sister Luna (David and Kimberly) had a similar thought and had gotten cards for the missionaries. We combined our efforts and on every pink plate we wrote some wonderful adjectives describing our missionaries. “You are dedicated, spiritual, hard-working, full of love. From Your Secret Admirer.” “Creative, giving, disciplined, charitable—that’s you. From Your Secret Admirer.”

The Lunas made deliveries to one district and we did to another. When we called the zone leaders to see if they were home, they were hesitant when we told them we were coming right over. “Is this an apartment check?” “No, we just have to get some things out to a number of missionaries in the mission and we need to deliver them right away. Can you be home in ten minutes?”

It was a little thing, a little bit of love, but it was SO fun for us to see their faces light up at every apartment and in every companionship. Some said they had never received a Valentine in their life. They were so excited.

Who knew you could make a clear, gallon bag look so good or be so welcomed?