I Hope they Called Her on a Mission

    Growing up I wanted to serve a mission for my church. We call it The Church. Because for us believers that is what it is. The Church of the Lord. None other than Him. It's a big deal, from the small and seemingly miniscule to the big, overpowering, everything. It is all and everything, for many of us believers.

    So, the answer to why is pretty explanatory, besides all the social norms and sociological pressures that we go through. Peer pressure. Mandates and invitations. Inner drives and desires and feelings, certainly for me and many others. There was a freedom to it, in many ways. To engage and escape the World, all at the same time.

    I could be about my Father's business, getting away from my earthly ones, some felt like drudgeries in a fallen and at times decadent earth of misery and ickiness. But those too shall pass. Many of us have needs and wants like that, to out-distance: To move on and up. I did. I wanted to move on and up. I needed distance, as so many of us do. To run, or swim, or fly, or race. Away. Get away from the grades, the system, the Establishment of the State and all the Big Brothers who had entrapped me, so many of us feeling entrenched and constrained by worldly things. Even my native English tongue. To be freed of the old; breaking open new wine bottles without consuming the soul-sickening old wines of contempt and addiction.

    We all have our own reasons, too. I did. Like many others I have known. It all made sense, to me. We are promised freedom and joy. We believe this.

    It made sense to my mother and step-dad, years later. I cherished this time that they went away to serve. And serve God and mammon. Having their cake and eating it too. Yes, the best of all worlds in places like Cambodia and Indonesia. All my parents served and gave, worked and worshipped. They all gave of themselves and gave and shared with others. Lights on a Hill, without a doubt. I saw it in many, many others. I could emulate this, too. We could all contribute to the greater cause.

    My wife did her things on a mission for the Lord, in far off Africa and Europe. All of them need the Lord, from us believers' point of view. We go forth and serve. We have been given so much, and we must continue the gifts and giving. Giving of thanks and giving of the heart.

    We find meaning and joy and worth in it all, even the hard, and painful, and lonely times.

    For the Lord Himself suffered such privations. And His closest Friends. We became such. To Him, to our shared hopes and dreams and creeds and covenants and promises.

    Us parents, we have hopes and faith in God, and ourselves, and the police and neighbors and doctors and vaccinations and grocers and meat-seller butchers and the cheese street vendors and dozen other youth-care people from church to pre-school in multiple countries, even in Mexico or the Central Americans in the local California-church, or the Virginia wards, communities others call congregations, in the DC suburbs, looking for life and jobs and love and passions, some childhood or now adulthood dreams, aspirations, plans, some call pipe-dreams or ill-founded goals...

    But things happen, and kids come and grow, and we did our best in our ways, and we rose and fell, and we failed and succeeded, sometimes many times in a row. And we prayed, and worshipped, and sang, and ministered, and served here and there, and were served and loved shown mercy and kindness from family and friends, some total strangers on the roads, and we did not crash, and avoided wrecks, and traveled far, and many times stayed close, tight like a family can be.

    I tried. We tried. We did not give up. When my drill sergeant called out to the third platoon of Echo Company, whether we really wanted to be there, late at night, toes on the line, me at the end of the hall on the third floor after weeks of the boot camp; he yelled and cajoled and pleaded, "Do you really want to be here? If not, go home, get out, tell me, hang it up!"

    No, drill sergeant! I responded to him loudly and with vigor. I voiced with emotion and volume to my platoon and anyone else, to God and the Heavens, I was there to do it, and I would not quit. I want to be here, Drill Sergeant!

    Yes, that is my Uchtdorf. My time in uniform, it has become my flying analogy and symbol of my faith, my understanding to the eternities and purposes of life. 

    Like I was a Scout years before, from my once valiant youth, dressed in uniform. I did not give up, give in, quit, or relinquish. I retreated at times; I was not always brave or resilient, nor noble or true. But I stuck with it. I kept putting on the uniform of my God. And, I achieved the ranks that the prophets said would make a good missionary, a good emissary, a good representative. I was part of Christ. I was His, He still had me. Despite my faults and lacking, and my imperfect actions or thoughts. HE still had me. HE promised. I believed, and this was my truth. Like millions of others. Even those who died and were not resurrected. Yet. But us believers have that promise. The promise of life and love everlasting. Nothing greater.

    He had me, I was sure. Even when I wasn't purely sure in my Man and Shepherd Above, others assured me it was so. And that was enough to push me along. We were all in the same boat, after all, and we had enough rowers and sailors and the ever-promised Captain to guide us through the storms and endless peaceful waters of the gulfs and bays and shores and open seas...

    Endless are the oceans upon which we drift and move. Sometimes in fast torrents, and other times in gigantic vast heated lulls. Fast or slow, choppy or sublime, we move, float, and sail along.

    So, the daughters and sons come along, not just ours but all the others, family and friends and others, endless are their plights and trajectories. Our mutual destinies and fates, eternal and never ending.

    Though some say death and hate end it all.

    There is more. There are hopes and sermons that surpass all those lowly, human and naturally fallen things. We are called to lift ourselves and look; look out and find and invite others to do the same. To follow Him.

    So, one person dons a tag, a placa, a chapa, a name-identifier, she goes off on a plane to unite with others, to commune with others, bring light to others, in places far and sundry, with flavors and tongues quite distinct and possibly strange, wonderful and at times scary, but exhilarating and wondrous at the same time.

    Even in the most minuscule and even trite, there is deeper wisdom and meaning. There is a Father and Mother watching, listening, waiting, loving. 

    And they have called her on a mission. So blessed.