How Long Shall We Wait?

by Jana Gillman

I remember sitting in a Zone Conference in the month of May when a fellow sister asked, “how long do you wait?  What I mean is, how long do you continue visit someone who has fallen away?” It was a good question, one that I’d pondered as well.   She then related a story ever familiar to every missionary in the room.  It was about a family she’d been visiting for a couple of months.  They allowed her to visit, but they weren’t progressing.

Expecting my Mission President to give a clear answer of “how long” was good enough, I whipped out my pen ready to jot down whatever he said.  His answer was profound, deep, and has influenced my life still to this day.

He said there isn’t a specific time frame.  Of course, we need to follow the Spirit and work effectively.  I expected that kind of answer, however, it’s what he said next that struck my heart.  He asked us to turn to Moroni chapter 7, verse 36.  He quoted the last part of the scripture, “. . . as long as time shall last, or the earth shall stand, or there shall be one man upon the face to be saved…”  That is how long the Savior will wait for us, and as representatives of Christ, we too should wait that long.  Those who have strayed are someone’s mother, someone’s sister, a part of a family and we should never give up on them because the Savior won’t ever give up on them either.

Wow.  I was speechless.  I’d visited countless less-actives during my time as a missionary, and not a single one had returned to church.  Some days, when we would  stop by to visit a particularly friendly inactive, I wondered if we were doing any good if we weren’t seeing results.  Yet, this counsel pierced my heart, and I knew that no matter what, I could never give up on these individuals.  That counsel was so timely.  Less than a month later, I saw my first inactive return to church in over 15 months as a missionary.

Sister Wada’s story is monumental for me as a missionary.  Not only was she the only inactive I saw return and stay, but she came as an answer to fasting and prayer.  My companion and I had opened our area for sister missionaries.  This particular Zone hadn’t had sisters for years, and we were the first.  It was an exciting time.  I was a seasoned missionary, confident in my language skills, and I’d opened areas before.  So I knew what hard work itwould be to learn a brand new area, and begin with no contacts or investigators. We were working hard every day but seeing no success.  We talked to everyone.  We gave out a record number of Books of Mormon, but still had zero investigators and felt so defeated.

 In early February,  we decided to fast to ask the Lord to help us specifically know who we should visit each day, and also that He would open the hearts of the people. We prayed and then made phone calls making appointments for that day.  We called Sister Wada that morning, and she agreed to see us later that afternoon.  What we didn’t know was that afternoon she found out that her father had fallen terribly ill.  She was leaving that night on a train to be by his bedside.   We showed up at our appointed time, talked to her briefly and shared a scripture.  I remember the scripture we chose was one out of the ordinary, one that I normally wouldn’t share with a less active.  However, the Lord knew what she needed to hear.  It touched her heart and she broke down in tears.  She relayed how her day had gone, and how that the scripture had comforted her in a way that she hadn’t felt in a long time.  She repeatedly thanked us, and invited us back when she returned.  We prayed together and then we left.

For me, this was a turning point in my mission.  This experience had let me know that the Lord was mindful of my companion and I.  He recognized our hard work, and of course, “God is mindful of every people… whatsoever land they may be in; yea he numbereth his people and his bowels of mercy are over all the earth.”  (Alma 26:37)

We continued to visit Sister Wada almost every week after she returned.  During this time, I got a new companion and we were warmly welcomed into her home. Although she said she’d come to church with each invitation, it didn’t happen.  This is where the Zone Conference training became vital.  I began to be frustrated and wondered how long we should wait for her?  I wondered if I was doing the right thing as a missionary? I knew she was feeling the Spirit, but I questioned how effective we were being.  The President’s counsel kept ringing in my ears, “…how long would the Savior wait?”  I confidently made the decision to keep visiting her, clinging to the hope that she would return.

And then it happened—on a Sunday in early June.  Sister Wada returned to church and was received with open arms!  I’ll never forget the look of excitement that the members of that Branch had for her.  They were filled with as much joy as we were to see a friend return to the fold.

This was one of the only times in my mission that I saw the fruits of my labors fulfilled; it was truly  “…sweet, above all that that I ever before tasted…” (1 Nephi 8:11)  Most importantly, I learned a lesson that I have leaned upon repeatedly:  that the Savior doesn’t give up on anyone, and neither should we.  I can’t count how many less active sisters I have visit taught since this experience, or the friends and family who have struggled with their faith, where I have drawn upon this lesson and was able to persevere- with patience, show my love, and help them feel the Spirit.  I am grateful that I was a tool in the hand of my Savior, and I am grateful He waits for me.

Christmas in the Amazon

by Jacqueline White

Amazon forest near Manaus

Four years after being baptized in 1980, I was able to serve a Mission in Brazil.  It was Christmas 1985 that I was transferred two weeks before the Holiday deep into the Amazon to a city called Manaus.   My Christmas on the Amazon was one that I was not prepared for and one that I would never forget.  It was hot, averaging about 90 degrees everyday with 90% humidity (including about 18 days of rain throughout the month of December).  The surroundings seemed dirty to my American sensibilities and there was a kind of poverty that I had never seen before or could imagine existed.

Manaus pic

Having served in the country for only 3 months, the language was still challenging and more of a barrier than a bridge to the people around me.  This town nestled in the middle of the Amazon was 1200 miles from our mission home in Brasilia, only accessible by a flight, which prevented us from joining the rest of the mission for the Holiday Christmas conference.  

Best Brazil map

So in addition to culture shock and acclimating to a new climate and food,  I was feeling very ‘cut off’ from my non-member family, from the friends that I had left at BYU, from other English speakers and now from the rest of our mission.  I longed for the holiday cues that I had grown accustomed to in America.  The cool weather, the cozy traditions and the familiarity of my beloved culture were missing.  I was disoriented and a bit sad, wondering if my nonmember family was right in telling me that I was foolish to interrupt college and spend 18 months far away from everything I loved and everyone who loved me.

On Christmas Eve, our zone of 14 missionaries loaded up in an old, rusty school bus that a member of the branch owned for his job and we drove around to the homes of various investigators singing Christmas Carols.  It was a bit depressing to me and I hadn’t anticipated feeling this kind of alone-ness on a Mission.  Wasn’t Missionary work supposed to be joyous and rewarding?  I knew it would be soul-stretching as well, but loneliness was hollowing out my heart, and I was ashamed that I felt so much sadness and unanticipated homesickness.


Then at 9pm, our rusty school bus stopped to sing our last song of the night outside the home of a one particular family.  As I stood in the dirt road, sweaty from the heat and humidity, feeling filthy and gritty it dawned on me that perhaps the actual first Christmas wasn’t much different from what I was experiencing.   I realized that  Mary and Joseph were far from home in what must have felt like dirty surroundings that we know were very, very humble.  Nothing about their situation was what they had expected or anticipated.  And perhaps they felt a longing for all that was familiar to them as well.  With this thought in mind, I watched the young Brazilian family, standing outside their humble little home, light up over our simple act of holiday kindness.  A calm spirit of pure joy flooded my heart and mind. I was far away from home and everything I knew, but the feeling of the Holy Ghost was familiar and all I needed to make that Christmas meaningful–a Christmas I have never forgotten.

Now, almost 30 years later, I have my own 22 year-old daughter and 20 year-old son each serving missions.  I miss them, but the sacrifice of not being together as a family is worth the good that they are doing for the people they are serving, and for the good that they may never know they are doing.  I know that they will also feel sadness at times, even in the very service that is supposed to bring joy. They will feel loneliness amidst the labors that we are told are divine.  But I know that these experiences will force a reliance on the Holy Ghost and forge an unbreakable bond with God (as it did for me), which will serve them well.  That will be the invisible force that instructs and protects them long after I am no longer here to provide motherly oversight.   And that is the very best gift that I could ask for.


Dum Dum Diddy to the Rescue

When I’d been out on my mission in Brazil only a couple of weeks, the ward mission leader gave his 3-minute spiritual thought at the weekly ward social and then looked at me.

“Sister–what’s the game tonight?”

I swiveled in desperation for my trainer’s assurance that I’d misunderstood.  Her sympathetic eyes confirmed my fear: the next 27 minutes, with 40 Brazilians and my pidgin Portuguese, were mine.  A quick prayer brought to mind my most dreaded Girls Camp campfire tradition: Dum Dum Diddy.  It was a silly clapping and singing song that we had to do all my six years of Girls’ Camp.  I thought it was dumb even back when I was 12 (and I couldn’t manage to keep up!).  But this evening, in a little town in the middle of nowhere, it was a heaven-sent cross-cultural smash hit, as I taught Brazilians from age 2-85 the Philadelphia Stake Girls Camp campfire tradition.  It took all 27 minutes, and absolutely everyone had a grand time.

Here’s my family–I taught it to the kids five minutes before we taped this.  Usually you start out slow and do it a few times, picking up speed.

Weaving Missionaries into the Fabric of the Ward 

by Emily Snyder

My boss happens to serve in the Boston Mission Presidency. They have been working hard to help missionaries be “woven into the fabric of the wards” – which is easier to say than do!!

While serving in Russia, I saw how Sunday meetings didn’t really happen without the missionaries. We had missionaries serving in the branch presidency, teaching in Young Women’s, planning activities, and on and on. Our goal was to help the missionaries to involve themselves less in the details of the ward.

But I realize that there needs to be a balance. The work of the members is the work of the missionaries and the work of the missionaries is the work of the members. If I could be a full-time missionary again, I would want to reach out to the Primary teachers and the youth organizations and suggest ways I could help – teach lessons, visit students, write thank you notes, or plan a lesson with the Relief Society president. I wouldn’t wait to be asked. I wouldn’t wait to have the ward think of ways for me to be used – I would just jump in.

At least I hope I would!

As an assistant in my work life, I have learned some traits that I want to use when I serve full-time again:

  • I am here for the cause–not for my glory, not for my vision. The irony is that the more I give to my boss’ cause, the more I am trusted and the clearer my career path becomes.
  • My job is to make my boss’ life easier. (I want his life to be seamless, so I happily kick under the water as hard as I can.)
  • I am here to help him with his goals and vision and to help him achieve what he wants – not what I have decided he should want.

Maybe this is a reminder for me now, not just in the future. Maybe this is the “ah-ha” for my work with missionaries and who I want to be in my member role . . .  the role of an (almost) full-time missionary who just happens to need to pay bills, too. Maybe this is what I need to be doing to help those I love come to know Jesus Christ better.

Flour mountain – An FHE CLASSIC from Brazil

by Elise Hahl

This game I learned down in Brazil is a fantastic ice breaker. You can use it when you host a Family Home Evening on your mission, or even in the walls of your own home…

Here’s what you need: flour, a large plate, and a small bowl. You’ll want to bring some flour yourself if you’re visiting another family for FHE.


You’re going to need to pack the bowl with flour. Make sure it’s nice and tight.


Put the plate face down on top of the bowl and then flip them, so they end up like this:


Remove the bowl, and voila! You have your flour mountain.


Place a small coin on top of the little mountain, like so:


One at a time, have each member of the crowd slice a tiny piece off of the mountain. The goal is to cut off a little corner without making the coin fall. On each turn, a player gets to saw off just one side. Keep it moving!


After a few turns, your flour mountain will start to look like this.


And then like this…


Eventually, somebody will have to cut so close to the coin that it will fall into the flour.  It’s a pretty dramatic moment.


The person who made the coin fall then has to fish for the coin in the flour–with their mouth. You really don’t want to be this person…


And the game is over once this person pulls the coin out with their mouth! This kid actually did pretty well. Most people who have to go fishing for the coin end up worse.


You don’t really need to be the same age or even to speak the same language to play this game. Flour in the face is universally awkward. Makes for a great time!

7 Tips from the Trenches

by Mary Scoresby

While some feelings, life-lessons, and relationships from my mission are still clear in my memory, many of the details have faded with time. In order to offer you a current perspective and sound advice, I picked the brains of two of my favorite missionaries–the sisters serving in my own ward. I asked Sister Tolman and Sister Goodstein to finish seven sentences, sharing their experience, wisdom, and practical tips for thriving as a missionary.

SisterTolmanGoldstein1. In the MTC, I’m grateful that I took the time to. . . 

  •      Make a 3 sentence summary of the Restoration lesson. Most of the time, you only have about 15 seconds to give a mini-lesson and capture someone’s interest! (Tolman)
  •      Memorize the First Vision and take the early morning work-out classes for sisters! (Goodstein)
2. I could have improved my MTC experience by. . .26_ChocolateMilk
  •       Being more patient with the 18 year old Elders. (T)
  •       Drinking more of the BYU chocolate milk! It’s on tap! (G)                  

3. If I could give my pre-mission self one piece of advice, it would be. . .

  •      Re-memorize all the seminary scripture mastery verses. Nearly all the questions we are asked can be explained using theses inspired passages!   I’d memorize the references, too! What good will it do if you can’t find the right verse? (T)scriptures
  •      Hug your parents more before you leave. You’ll miss it. And dance more, you’ll miss it too. (G)

4. I wish I had brought. . .

  •     mormon-tabernacle-choir-application-article-largeChurch music! Motab, classical music, Christ-centered instrumentals. Music helps keep the Spirit in your heart and mind! (T)
  •      Music!!! (G)

5. I never imagined my mission would. . .

  •      Produce so many life-long friends already! (T)
  •      Help me grow as much as it has. I didn’t even know how much I would grow until I came out here. (G)

6. I feel supported on my  mission when. . .

  •      My family and friends share thoughts and insights from the scriptures. Many of my prayers have been answered by reading letters/emails about the scripture! (T)brown-paper-packages
  •      I get packages!! And when our investigators tell us how much we change their lives for the better. (G)

7. One life lesson I have learned so far is. . .

  •      The value of visiting teaching! When I go home, I want to always do my visiting teaching with a smile! When done by the Spirit, visiting teaching can bring about miracles! (T)
  •      Do everything you can to live your life in a way that you can be with your family forever and to help your family members do the same. (G)

Sister Tolman and Sister Goodstein are serving in the Indianapolis Indiana Mission.


by Lisa Sorenson, Alabama Birmigham Mission

“The baby’s comin’ – I need a ride to the hospital!”

  The 4 a.m. phone call wasn’t what I expected receiving as a missionary. After all, missionaries aren’t usually on obstetric duty. 

red-phone1          Shantae (name changed) was one of the many women we encountered in the projects in the cities of Alabama. Pregnant, without the support of the baby’s father, without a dependable car to get to the hospital, she urgently needed help.  So in the dark of night as her labor pain increased, she called someone she knew would be there for her – the sister missionaries.  Or as she referred to us – her SISTAZ. 

She was swept into the ER when we arrived and that was the last we saw of her for hours.  We paced.  We read.  We prayed.  From time to time a nurse would poke her head into the waiting room, look around and then disappear.  Other than that we were alone.  


After three hours we were truly concerned, so my companion flagged someone down and asked about Shantae.  The woman looked at us quizzically and said – “She had her baby a couple hours ago – emergency C-Section.”   The nurse took us to the recovery room.  As we visited with exhausted Shantae, our disappointment and  frustration of not being there to support her gave way to humor as we had realized what had happened.  In her pre-delivery panic she had pled with the nurses to go get her “SISTAZ” – the nurse had dutifully gone to the waiting room, looked around, and since she didn’t see anyone who looked like Shantae she assumed her sistazs weren’t there.  It never crossed her mind that Shantae’s sistazs were actually sisters wearing skirts, reading scriptures, and possessing pasty white skin.  

We laughed, oohed and aahed at her precious tiny son, and cherished our sisterhood that transcended physical characteristics and brought us boundless joy.