Thursday, September 18, 2014
The burning of the White Shirt....Missionaries have a tradition of burning a White Shirt on there Hump day. It's hard to believe that we are at our one year mark. In some ways it went by so quickly and in other ways it has dragged on. Before we know it Elder Laing will be home. We are so proud of him and how hard he is working in Virginia. His Testimony of Christ has grown so much. We look forward to see what the next year has in store for him. Please continue to keep him in your thoughts and prayers. - Renette
Monday, September 8, 2014
This week has been another good week. It was a little bit slower than usual but that's okay. So as you know this last week was transfers. Our whole district got the call that we were going to be all staying. Yesterday we were talking to some elders in the Brambleton ward who were in our district and they said that we switched districts. So we did have some change after all. We are still working with a couple of people. Our youth investigators are an interesting situation. We are rarely meeting with them and it is looking like they are not going to be baptized. They don't have a desire yet. I guess we will see how that goes and how we will be able to help them. Another lady we have been working with has come to church 3 times. She really likes all of what we talk about and she agrees with pretty much everything that we say. We have brought up baptism with her multiple times and she said that she doesn't feel ready yet and if she feels like she is pushed into things she backs off. So we have to take it really slow with her. We have met with her 3 times, every time it has been in a members home. We think that she is going to be baptized. She has a testimony she just doesn't realize it. So Saturday night we went to a members home to visit with some less actives and non members. They had the BYU Texas game on so we may have seen the first half. Had some good food, some good drinks. We also went to Fuddruckers with a member the other night. I had the best burger i have had in a long time. We have our year mark in 10 days. Excited for that. This is a short transfer i found out. So i am only going to be with my current companion for 4 1/2 more weeks. That will be good. One of my good buddies from the mtc is now in my zone so that is going to be a party. This is going to be an interesting transfer. But i think that it will be fun. Love you guys!!!
Saturday, September 6, 2014
The marks of a Man
As I jumped on board my flight from Miami to Salt Lake City, I paused for a moment to catch my breath. Seated near the front of the plane was an excited young man, probably 19, sitting with his parents. His hair was short and his clothes new and sharp. His suit was fitted perfectly and his black shoes still retained that store bought shine. His body was in good shape, his face clear, and his hands clean. In his eyes I could see a nervous look, and his movements were that of an actor on opening night.
He was obviously flying to Utah to become a missionary for the Mormon Church. I smiled as I walked by and took pride in belonging to this same Church where these young men and women voluntarily serve the Savior for two years. With this special feeling, I continued to the back where my seat was located.
As I sat in my seat, I looked to the right and to my surprise, saw another missionary sleeping in the window seat. His hair was also short, but that was the only similarity between the two. This one was obviously returning home, and I could tell at a glance what type of missionary he had been.
The fact that he was already asleep told me a lot. His entire body seemed to let out a big sigh. It looked as if this was the first time in two years he had even slept, and I wouldn't be surprised if it was. As I looked at his face, I could see the heavy bags under his eyes, the chapped lips, and the scarred and sunburned face caused by the fierce Florida sun.
His suit was tattered and worn. A few of the seams were coming apart, and I noticed that there were a couple of tears that had been hand-sewn with a very sloppy stitch.
I saw the nametag, crooked, scratched and bearing the name of the Church he represented, the engraving of which was almost all worn away. I saw the knee of his pants, worn and white, the result of many hours of humble prayer.
A tear came to my eye as I saw the things that really told me what kind of missionary he had been. I saw the marks that made this boy, a man. His feet - the two that had carried him from house to house, now lay there swollen and tired. They were covered by a pair of worn-out shoes. Many of the large scrapes and gouges had been filled in by the countless number of polishings.
His books - laying across his lap were his scriptures, the word of God. Once new, these books which testify of Jesus Christ and His mission, were now torn, bent, and ragged from use.
His hands - those big, strong hands, which had been used to bless and teach, were now scarred and cut from knocking at doors.
Those were indeed the marks of that man. And as I looked at him, I saw the marks of another man, the Savior, as he was hanging on the cross for the sins of the world.
His feet - those that had once carried him throughout the land during his ministry, were now nailed to the cross.
His side - now pierced with a spear. Sealing his gospel, his testimony with his life.
His hands - the hands that had been used to ordain his servants and bless the sick were also scarred with the nails that were pounded to hang him on the cross.
Those were the marks of that great man.
As my mind returned to the missionary, my whole body seemed to swell with pride and joy, because I knew, by looking at him, that he had served his Master well.
My joy was so great, I felt like running to the front of the plane, grabbing that new, young missionary, and bringing him back to see what he can become, what he can do.
But would he see the things that I saw, could anyone see the things I saw? Or would he just see the outward appearance of that mighty elder, tired and worn out, almost dead.
As we landed, I reached over and tapped him to wake him up. As he awoke, it seemed like new life was entering his body. His whole frame just seemed to fill as he stood up, tall and proud. As he turned his face towards mine, I saw a light about his face that I had never seen before. I looked into his eyes. Those eyes, I will never forget those eyes. They were the eyes of a prophet, a leader, a follower, and a servant. They were the eyes of the Savior. No words were spoken. No words were needed.
As we unloaded, I stepped aside to let him go first. I watched as he walked, slow but steady, tired but strong. I followed him and found myself walking the way that he did. When I came through the doors, I saw this young man in the arms of his parents, and I couldn't hold it any longer.
With tears streaming down my face, I watched these loving parents greet their son who had been away for a short time. And I wondered if our parents in Heaven would greet us the same way. Will they wrap their arms around us and welcome us home from our journey on earth? I believe they will. I just hope that I can be worthy enough to receive such praise, as I'm sure this missionary will.
I said a silent prayer, thanking the Lord for missionaries like this young man. I don't think I will ever forget the joy and happiness he brought me that day.