Brian: Nile River Conversion Story

After receiving my call to serve in Russia I was told all sorts of things to prepare for, watch out for, beware of...etc. People told me that it was a hard mission, that I probably wouldn't baptize anybody, and that in general the people, climate, and government were cold and tough. I was stubborn and chose not to believe them. I thought, what do they know? Many of them hadn't been there and were just passing on hearsay

About a year and three months into my mission I began to develop my own opinion about the Russian people. I  recognized that their past was filled with tragedy and heartache. Leaders such as Stalin, Lenin, and many if not all the tsars abused their power and caused the people to suffer. The people lived in fear and lost the ability to trust, especially strangers from the distant land of America. I tried not to judge them, but tried to understand them. I still do not understand much, but I do know that God loves them. 

In my mission it was difficult to believe that cold invites such as gospel pamphlets would bring any success. In fact, I think I passed out thousands of invites on my mission and never had a single person call me back...that is until Ludmila. 

So there I was riding along on a bus with my great friend and companion Elder Okabe when I got a call from an unknown number on my cell phone. I answered and a woman on the other end began asking me really strange questions. Initially I was a little confused due to my somewhat limited gospel vocabulary. However, eventually I figured out that she wanted to know what my connection was to the Nile River. I told her that I had no connections to the Nile River and asked how she got my number. She explained that she had an invitation and that on the back a Staraishina ("Elder" in Russian) Nile and Staraishina Kitchen had left their number. I then realized that she was referring to an Elder Neil who had left the area a little before me and that Neil, translated into Russian, is Nile. I explained to the lady what I had realized but she still insisted that we meet with her. I got her name and we set up an appointment. After I got off the phone I told Elder Okabe what had happened and we both had a good laugh. However, we were just glad to have another lesson to fill our schedule. 

When we met with Ludmila she told us a sad story about how she and her husband were separated. He had left many years earlier as a soldier and was lost in a military operation near the Nile river. She said that when she read our invitation the word Nile stood out to her and that she knew calling this number would help her find some answers. She ended up finding answers all right, but not the type she had anticipated. During later lessons we taught Ludmila the plan of salvation. She really connected with the message. She told us that since she was a little girls he never felt like she was really at home - that she was really just here for a time until she returned back to her heavenly home. Learning about the plan of salvation taught her how this was possible. Miraculously, the misunderstand about the Nile river lead to Ludmila being baptized. She had one of the most beautiful baptisms. Few people were present, but the spirit was there and we all felt it. 

Rachael: "it's fun to find - all the time!"

The title of this post is from a song we liked to listen to in the car about trying to find people and invite them to learn more about Christ all the time!

This story is one of my favorites (I might be saying that a lot as I write these each week)! This story is somewhat like the last one I wrote in that it's about how explosions of faith cause miracles.

I was with Sis. Todd for this one (we were together for 6 months!) out in the good ol' La Jolla Single's Branch. We had been having a difficult time finding new people to teach (seems to be a common theme for many missionaries) and were feeling a bit discouraged. We prayed about what we should do and had the inspiration that we should talk to at least a certain amount of people a day. I don't remember how many people it was, but I remember that it was a whole lot! So many, that if we didn't talk to almost everyone we saw, we wouldn't reach our goal. We did really well with it for a few days and then P-day rolled around. On P-day we usually spent a lot of time writing letters, cleaning things, and getting ready for the rest of the week... and not a ton of time around other people. So, we decided that we would reach our goal of contacting that huge amount of people while we were out doing our grocery shopping.... and let me tell you, it's a bit awkward to talk to people in the middle of grocery stores in Southern California. They just don't know what to think! We had never actually shopped at Albertsons before because it was more expensive, but something told us we should just go. If I remember right, we actually got lost going to the store we usually go to and saw the Albertsons and decided we'd rather go there than keep searching for the other store. So, we went shopping and contacted a ton of people.

Unfortunately not a single person we talked to was interested in learning more and we were feeling a bit discouraged. Here is the key - never give up! There were just a few more people we could talk to... so we talked with our cashier and then with the sweet girl who bagged our groceries. Golden. Melinda, as we came to know her, was not only willing to meet with us, but seemed eager as well. We were thrilled that we got a phone number!

Well, we felt pretty good about what we had done.

Sadly, we couldn't get ahold of her for weeks and weeks. It seemed like the number she gave us wasn't even hers (it was an old lady on the answering machine). We went back to Albertsons and didn't see her there. We had about given up on her :(

Then one day we were perusing through our contact lists and saw her name and felt like we should call it again... she answered!! And she was upset at us for not having called before (we did, I guess she didn't get the messages!). We set up an appointment and the rest is history. I'll tell more of her story later... but for today just know that miracles do happen when we show our faith... even if the miracles do not manifest themselves right away. It took months to finally see the results of really putting forth our faith and contacting a ridiculous amount of people. But, God did show His power and that He was working with us. Word of advice to missionaries - contact everyone, even on P-day because you never know who you'll run into! They could be ready for the saving powers of the gospel of Jesus Christ :). I think that really goes for all of us... we should be continually inviting others to be part of this wonderful Gospel and have the blessings that we so often selfishly keep to ourselves!

Rachael: No hablo Español... yet

One of the best parts about being a missionary is being able to see how God helps you out when you exercise some faith!

As I mentioned before, I was originally assigned to be an English-speaking missionary. During my entrance interview with my mission president, we had a really spiritual experience and he told me that he felt impressed that I should start learning Spanish so I could eventually work in Spanish areas. Well, I was eventually switched to working in Spanish areas and I spent my first two transfers learning with amazing companions from the Dominican Republic and Argentina! Love! After two transfers, however, I was certainly not feeling fluent in the language yet. I could communicate, but it wasn't too pretty!

Hna Thomas and me - our first week together!

So, I thought I'd be staying in Chula Vista with Hermana Zaldivar, but instead my mission president (and the Lord) surprised me with a new assignment to a little place called Santee. Little did I know I'd be spending over four months there! All I could remember about Santee was that I had heard that there just weren't any baptisms happening there and that it was a difficult area. Much to my surprise, I was not assigned with fluent Spanish speaker, either. Hermana Thomas had been speaking Spanish just about as long as I had. We were really going to have to exercise some faith, to say the least.

She and I have maaany stories and I'm sure I'll write about more than one of them in the future. The short one I wanted to talk about today, however, is about a little man named Miguel Angel and how I believe that he was a direct answer to prayer and acts of faith.

It was our first full day together and Hermana Thomas and I were a bit nervous to go out and start talking to people on the street. We, unfortunately, did not have a very big "investigator pool" and really needed to go find some more people who wanted to hear about the Gospel of Jesus Christ! So, we got up, studied really hard that morning, spoke to each other only in Spanish so we could feel warmed up, and headed out to the street. We decided that we would demonstrate our faith in God and His ability to help out His two Spanish-challenged missionaries. Our goal? To talk to and extend an invitation to learn more about the Gospel to every person we came into contact with. No small task. After praying realllllly hard, we started the adventure. I remember that we got a phone call right before we went out to start working and it was someone speaking Spanish and we could barely understand what they were trying to say. Not very encouraging to say the least :/ Anyway, we knew God would help us and so we worked.

First person we met? Miguel Angel. Did he understand what we were saying to him? Probably some of it (we were very good at testifying of Jesus Christ and inviting people to learn more), but our conversational Spanish needed some work. Miraculously, he said that he did want to learn more (we were pretty sure that's what he said anyway). We got his number and made plans to meet the next day at the park. We worked so hard for the rest of the day talking to people, practicing our Spanish, and sharing our testimonies the best way we could. As far as I can remember, Miguel was the only new investigator we got that day. I remember feeling rather frustrated... little did we know that it would turn out to be a huge blessing!

We studied the lessons we wanted to teach him extensively and were so relieved to find him at the park (we weren't sure we understood which park he was referring to). We sat down at a picnic table and had a beautiful, simple lesson about God's love and where Miguel fit into the Plan of Happiness. He was so eager to learn and so patient with our Spanish!

Miguel's baptism (he's the one on the left)

It took about a year, but eventually Miguel Angel was baptized into the church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Teaching him over that year was both a challenge and a blessing (again, many more stories to come concerning Miguel!). We later asked him if he could understand what we were saying that first day on the street and he said he couldn't understand much except that we had a message about Jesus Christ and it could help him be more happy. That is really what it's all about.

Moral of the story? When we have surges of faith, miracles happen. God makes us able and makes up for our inadequacies. This was not the only instance on my mission that this happened. I believe that when we have surges of faith in our lives, we will see miracles. God is a god of miracles... and I am so grateful for that!

Brian: Morning's Light

Today:

There is something amazing about sunlight, especially as it marks the end or the beginning of a new day. I love sunsets. I love sun rises. I love the colors. I love the peace they bring. I love how the light looks on the plants, trees, houses and people. The shadows are long and dark; they contrast greatly with everything the light touches. It is beautiful to see these stark contrasts. They make the world seem more vibrant. The scene reminds me of God's majesty and love.

On my mission:

I remember rolling out of bed and realizing that I was all alone. This was something strange and foreign to me, considering that all missionaries have to be within sight and sound of their companion at all times. My companion had left early that morning to catch a bus out of country. He was headed to the city of Narva in Estonia to renew his visa. We had received special permission for him to travel alone, upon the condition that I would immediately report to my district leader's apartment after waking up. I got dressed and in the early morning darkness. I found my way on and off a few buses, onto the metro, and to the front door my my district leader's apartment. I was exhausted, not only physically, but my spirits were down. My companion was depressed, we rarely left the apartment to do missionary work, and I didn't know what to do. I needed to somehow be revitalized. The weak prior, Elder Kitchen, my district leader had given me his extra key to his apartment so I could enter without waking anyone. I quietly came in, found the couch in the far room, and collapsed onto its soft cushions. Sleep enveloped me. 

I suddenly awoke to the excited voice and shaking of Elder Williams. He said, "Pearce, you got to see this". I thought, right now nothing could be more interesting than the insides of my eyelids, but I got up, and I am glad I did. We quickly went down to the kitchen on the other end off the small apartment and out to the balcony and looked at the sky. I had never seen anything quite like it. That morning, in the dark dirty city God had lite up his morning sky with the most breath taking sight. I ran and grabbed my camera. The whole sky was filled with clouds painted purple and pink. Inside I felt something warm. I felt luck that I could see this simple and beautiful part of God's handy work. 

I know this is a simple story and to other it may seem meaningless, but to me it was a tender mercy. I felt that God blesses all of his children. He wants them to see beauty, feel love, and to come back to him. 

I know that God lives and loves us. This world is a cacophony of bitter and sweet, light and dark, good and evil. It is our job to recognize the good, learn to resist the evil, and thereby return to our Heavenly Father. 

Brian: To listen or Not to listen? That is the Question.

So there I was in Russia, bursting at the seems with excitement to be in the frozen north, during one of the coldest recorded winters of the last two decades. The month prior my mission president had sent me to serve in the farthest most town in the St. Petersburg Mission. Petrozovodsk or Petro, as everyone called it, had adventure in the air. Adventure was what kept me alive. It is what pulled me out of bed every morning and onto my knees. This particular day was especially exciting because I was about to receive a new companion, Elder Bradford. A companion is what LDS missionaries call the person they serve and preach the gospel with. I had planned a great day full of lots of meetings for my new and hopefully to be friend. I wanted him to have a great first day.

After picking up Elder Bradford in the morning from his long night ride on the Polar Express, we dropped off all of his stuff at the apartment. We then took off to teach families about Jesus Christ. Eventually our plans brought us to the outskirts of Petro. I need to inform you that in Russia 90% of all housing is made up of large run-down concrete boxes called domes. Somehow in this part of the city a small collection of much older and smaller traditional houses had survived. As Elder Bradford and I walked by these little farm houses on a iced over road, I had the distinct impression that we should not enter the house of our next appointment. I noted the thought and proceeded forward with courage and caution. When we got to our investigator's house we found a delightful dog locked up in a kennel. We reached our hands through the fence, pet him, and let him know we were friends. He happily and excitedly licked our hands, wagged his tail, and made us feel welcome (every good mission story involves a dog of some sort).

We stood and knocked on the door. Just when we were about to leave, the door swung wide open. Before us stood our investigator, completely intoxicated. We told him that we would come back a different day. He insisted that we come inside, but remembering my impression I resisted. He pushed the invitation again, insisting that we needed to get out of the cold. He asked for us to just come into the porch like entry way so we could talk to him some more.

I rationalized that this little entry way, between the outside door and the door to the rest of the house, wasn't a danger zone. We entered. Once inside, we talked with our investigator about the Book of Mormon. He told us that he had been reading and that he had something special to show us. He asked us to come inside further so that we could see it. At this point I thought maybe my impression from earlier was bogus and that going inside would help to further our work with this individual.

We walked through a relatively large dinning/kitchen area and into a back room with a shelf full of books. I stood close to the investigator and poor Elder Bradford stood in the doorway. As the investigator was in the middle of showing me a few of his icons, all of a sudden something grabbed my companion from behind, ripped him from the doorway, and was spinning him about in the other room. What my companion and I had failed to pay much attention to on our way in was a man passed out drunk, sitting in the corner. For some reasons something had snapped within the man and he wanted me and my companion out of the house.

Once I had realized what was happening I rushed to my companions aid and our investigator did the same. I managed somehow to free Elder Bradford form the clutches of this mad man and told Elder Bradford to run. I was hot on his tail when I felt the drunk man grab the top-back loop on my backpack. I lurched to a halt, and spun to ask him what he wanted. In a raging voice he slurred, "get out of my house". I shouted back that I would if he would let me go. Just then, a fist came flying at my head. Somehow things turned into slow motion and I did a back bend and dodged the guy's punch. I think alcohol had slowed his reflexes and motion in general so his punch was easy to anticipate. Thrown off balance by his blow, I freed myself and ran for the door. The man came stumbling after. I heard him coming and waited behind the outside door. As he came running through I slammed the door on his body hard. He fell to the cold ground and I pinned him there between the door and its frame. I yelled at my companion rushing towards the gate to hold it open for me.

Once opened, I let go of the door, freed the man and ran away. Looking back running down the ice-covered roads I saw the drunk man get up and try to sic the dog on us. I laughed thinking how friendly the dog had been to us on the way in.

Once we were a ways from the house I apologized to my companion. We both were a little shaken by the experience. I told him about the prompting and promised myself that I would do a better job of hearkening to them.

Years since I have pondered on the experience and realized that the adversary entices us slowly. Like the first drunk man, he invites us into the antechambers of his house. Then, once we feel safe, he invites us in further. He plays off our desires for success and faith in our own strength.

Rach: "Why don't you just get married?"

People always ask sister missionaries why they chose to go on a mission when it is not required by the church. Here is my story.

I was under some interesting perceptions as a young girl growing up in LDS culture. While I loved missionaries, I never got really acquainted with them. They would come over for dinner and eat a lot of lasagna, and our conversations unfortunately never led to my family actually sharing the gospel. We usually had elders in the ward and the occasional sister missionary companionship to come through. Unfortunately, I saw the sister missionaries through a certain stereotype. Why were these girls on missions and not getting married? In my mind there were just a few possible explanations:

WARNING - honest (though incorrect) thoughts coming up:

1. They were frumpy (online definition: A female with lack of concern for appearance. Often characterized by sweatpants, frizzy hair, grandma panties, and a pasty complexion).
2. They were socially awkward and therefore unable to find a guy to marry.
3. They had absolutely nothing better to do
4. Their families were "super mormon" and made them come.

Well guess what... I WAS WRONG! I admit it! To think, I had all of those years to prepare for my own mission but I was too busy judging the poor, sweet sister missionaries that cycled through our ward. I should've taken some time to get to know them and learn from their amazing experiences and huge hearts. Seriously. One of my new quests in life is to help girls go on missions. Why? because it changed my life and I know it will change every girl who goes for the better. Who wouldn't want that?

You may be wondering how I ended up on a mission when the last thing I wanted to be was frumpy, socially awkward, have nothing to do, and be a super goody goody mormon. I had, what our dear King Benjamin calls, a change of heart.

It happened my sophomore year of college. First of all, I was not looking to get married and I think that helped quite a bit. Commitment was not my thing you know. Boys were awkward and I had dated one too many "premie" guys. So, my wonderful best friend Megan and I moved into a new ward. We were warned before that it was an "older" ward and had a lot of sister returned missionaries. Oh great. Welcome to frumpland, right? Wrong. The girls I met in that ward changed me.

I was surrounded by girls who

1. were actually very classy. None of that yucky hair and sweat pants crap
2. had incredible testimonies of the Book of Mormon, the Restauration of the church, Jesus Christ, and lots of other important things!
3. knew how to teach.... and boy did they! I had never enjoyed Relief Society so much!
4. stuck to their morals
5. were beautiful (not just their sparkling spirits inside, but outside too!)

Needless to say, I was blown away. There they were, return sister missionaries, and they were the picture of what I wanted to be! Their common denominator... the had all served worthy missions for the church. It didn't matter where they had gone, they all had the same fire. I wanted it.

And thus began the journey of prayer, fasting, and pleading with the Lord to tell me if it was the right thing for me. As is typical in my relationship with Heavenly Father, He did not give me a direct answer but gently guided me through different people and thoughts. I remember it finally coming to a rather frustrating point where I just told God that I was going to prepare myself like I was going on a mission, and if it wasn't the right thing then please let me know. Well, as you can guess, God didn't intervene and I got to go :). Preparing was great, the mission was even better. It was the absolute best decision I had ever made.

My parents were skeptical at first and I know more than one person asked me why I didn't just get married instead, but I felt it was right and I was so excited to go and share the gospel. After getting used to the idea, my parents were fully onboard and my biggest supporters. Thanks mom and dad!

I got called to the California San Diego Mission to the Mormon Battalion Visitor's Center.  I was admittedly a bit disappointed that it wasn't a foreign land, foreign language, and that it was a visitor's center... but I acted with faith, accepted the call, and went to go conquer San Diego! 

My mission did not, however, turn into a visitor's center mission. The Visitor's Center closed a week before I arrived for renovations and reopened a week after I left. My call was changed from English to Spanish speaking after 8 months. It was the best 18 months I could've asked for.

there it is! my mission call!