Sending One Off

My oldest daughter Kim asked me the other day if having a missionary gone far away from home will get easier as the months go by.  Will that heart wrenching worry for their safety and happiness ease up some?

She says she knows people in her ward who've sent sons and daughters off around the world. When she sees them in church on Sunday she asks how everyone's doing. She says a lot of them still start sniffling even after months have gone by. One friend's son was returning soon from Chile and Kim asked her when it got easier. The sister wiped a tear away and replied bravely, "Not yet."

I only had that experience once. Sending a missionary off to serve.
It was our shy, quiet, child. The one who always had trouble being comfortable around strangers. The one who got a stomach ache if she was ever too long gone from home. She went clear across the country to live with strangers, speak only Spanish, and try to find people looking for the truth. She didn't speak Spanish before she left.

Now, our son Dane and his wife Lisa have sent our granddaughter, born and raised in the desert, off to serve in the land of blizzards and twenty-below zero wind chills.

And, just this morning, Kim and Scott put their oldest on a plane for Salt Lake and then to Brazil.

They speak Portuguese in Brazil.

They won't see her again for a year and a half.

Kim wants to know if it will get easier.

First, before I answer, I want to thank some people I've never thanked before.

Thank you to the mothers and fathers of all those young missionaries who came to our house so many long years ago. We knew nothing of the truth until a bunch of goofy teenagers brought it to us. You see, we went through about eight sets of missionaries before we were finally baptized. Most of them were teenagers. One mom and dad sent their son all the way from Samoa to talk to us. He could eat 17 tacos for supper I recall. This kid was huge, well over six feet tall, who'd helped his dad on the family pig farm in Samoa before his mission. That boy could eat. And he liked my tacos.

He left his family by the ocean and came halfway around the world to live in a desert for two years just to talk to us about the most important thing there is. Well, and to talk to a few others too. And along the way he learned that he liked tacos. He and his mom and dad had been saving for years for his mission. Now he was flipping a chart over, explaining eternal truths and wiping hot sauce off his fingers.

Well, that young man changed our lives.
For eternity.

I'm reminded about eternity when my daughter, a child of  raggedy old converts, tells me that she's had some of our ancestor's work done in the temple.  Seems that eternity goes back in time as well as forward. Missionary work goes backwards too, I guess.

So, I'd like to thank that young man from Samoa's mom and dad.
In fact, I'd like to thank all the mom's and dads of missionaries.

You loved them. You taught them the truth. You saved and sacrificed for missions. Once, many years ago, one couple sent their boy off halfway around the world. You knew you wouldn't see him for two long years. You worried about his safety and happiness. You wondered how he could possibly survive in a desert. You missed him every single day.

I want you to know that he changed our lives forever. A whole lot of lives changed it seems. Forward and back.
He brought our family the truth. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

And now, in part because of that young man and his parents from Samoa, we have two granddaughters off on missions. One to blizzards and one to Brazil.

And Kim wants to know if it gets any easier, having one gone on a mission. Will that wrench and worry ease up?

All I can say is that I'm eternally grateful to the parents of the ones that were sent to knock on our door, so many years ago. And I'm grateful to those goofy teenagers who came. They changed everything for our family.  Changed it for us, our ancestors and our posterity. Forever.
I hope that makes it a little easier.

I think it was Jeffrey Holland who once said something like, "The gospel of Jesus Christ is rolling forth to fill the entire earth on the shoulders of an army of teenagers." And some just barely older than that, I might add.

May Heavenly Father bless and keep that beautiful army safe and well. May he inspire them to work hard and lead them to those seeking truth. May he bless them all the rest of their lives for their missions.

And may he bless and comfort their parents too.

Trick or treat. Smell my feet.

October.

No matter where you live it's one of the most glorious months of the year, isn't it?
Here in the Sonoran desert October not only brings relief from scorching summer heat, it begins the promise of seven months of lovely and good report. Weather reports that is.
We don't have to go off to the beach seeking after them either.  Just open the door.
(All that's a reference to a Mormon thing which I'll explain later.)

October once brought me gold aspen leaves shimmering against a blue sky.
It's one of my most treasured mountain memories.
Then too, the smell of fall in the high country woods is something I'm so grateful not to have missed in my lifetime. That mixture of cool wet earth, leaves underfoot and far off wood smoke is one of the best smells in life.
Like a mountain creek in summer or the ocean any time.

That line of thinking brought my wandering mind to other good smells.
Life's full of them if you notice.  
Like pine branches or any freshly cut wood.
At Christmas I always go to my local tree lot to buy or beg the trimmings from their trees to put in vases and decorate around the punch bowl. Our house is so little that the cuttings send fresh pine smell to fill even the back bedroom.

And one of the most comforting smells has to be supper cooking in the oven when you walk in the door hungry after a long day.   Especially pot roast, barbequed chicken, or baked ham.  Or loaves of bread baking. Or pans of rolls. Does anything on earth smell better than that?      
Well, brownies maybe.      
Or cupcakes.
No, bread wins.
Isn't it amazing how just a pot roast smell can make life seem so much better?
I remember a crockpot being a big help creating that "Welcome home, dinner's ready," smell when I was teaching.

And what about a clean baby?
My oldest daughter once took her children to a pediatrician she'll always remember fondly. She said whenever she brought a newborn in for a checkup he would never fail to sneak a sniff of the baby's head during the exam.
She saw him do just that.  Grandma's do too.

They say that smell is one of the most powerful triggers of memories.  I think that might be true.
I'm going to admit something crazy about one of my favorite smell memories. Even weird.  Don't tell anybody.

When I was 17 and dating my now husband of fifty years, I stole one of his shirts and slept with it because it smelled like him.  It was glorious.
Remember I was very young.
For some reason though, now that I'm sleeping with the actual man, the smells have changed.
It's not the same, I can tell you.

But other great smells come to mind.

Campfires when you're sitting around them with a stick and a burning marshmallow on the end.
Or laundry, dryer sheet fresh, warm from the dryer.
Even better, as I recall from back in the day, fresh and sun warm from a clothesline.

Soap smell on a clean fifth grader when he comes to your desk to get help with math is great. This happens only before recess. Then the clean kid smell changes to sweaty kid.
Then too there's the hopeful, heady, aroma of too much aftershave on a gangly teenager.

Larry says, "A new car," is the best smell, but I think cars just smell like machines and oil.
He likes bacon frying too. Especially early in the morning if he's still in bed and someone else is cooking.  Usually he's the only early riser now.

And, I remember that he's always loved the smell of perfume on a beautiful woman. Never fails to notice and make a comment. And, if asked, he swears the smell he's looking so wistful about is me. The man may be a liar but he's not stupid.
He also recalls fondly the morning smell of coffee. That was before he joined the church. He says he's grateful it never tasted as good as it smelled since he had to give it up when he was baptized.

Rain just as it starts to fall is glorious.
And the smell of desert mesquite after one of our summer gully washers.
That one's best in the cool of dawn, but it'll make you roll the car windows down no matter what the time or temperature.

Or a salty, sea-weedy ocean breeze.  Or grass being cut.

Or Larry's barbecue chicken when he's out on the patio grilling. That one can drive the whole block crazy.

Then there's popcorn popping, which always makes me want to put a Disney movie on the TV.

And come December slicing a lemon or lime fresh from our trees will fill the whole kitchen with one of my favorite smells.
If it's winter and there's snow outside you'll still think of lemonade.
Cucumbers will do that too. Only then it's summer salads you'll remember.

Flowers like petunias or alyssum are winter smells down here in the lowland. Up in the mountains at that time of year I would hear people say "Smells like snow."   I never did get that.
But mint, basil, and tomatoes on the vine fill my patio pots in January if you happen to crush some leaves while watering.
And come March, orange blossoms send their sweet scent into the night with every breeze.

What are some of your favorite smells?

The Articles of Faith were written when the Prophet was asked what Mormons believe.   The last one is my favorite.   It ends with, "If there is anything virtuous, lovely or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things."  At the very least I think that means we should notice and appreciate them.

Well, the wonderful smells of life are lovely and of good report.  Praiseworthy too.  They make me grateful for beauty, home, comfort and family.  I think I should seek after some.

So I'm going to try to create some good smells today. Give Heavenly Father a hand so to speak.
First I'll plant a patio pot with allysum and then I'll put a pot roast in the oven.

And I won't forget to thank God for blessing me with both of them.

* PS
A daughter called to say that I forgot a very important smell.

She remembers telling me once when she was young that she was embarrassed to go to church with her father because he smelled like cigarette smoke. I shared with her that a bishop once told me that tobacco smell in a Mormon church was the most beautiful scent of all.
It was the smell of someone trying to repent, trying to live the truths Father taught.

If any of you are struggling to live those truths you now know, come to Sacrament meeting.  Sit by me and Larry.  It took him a while but he finally conquered a 4 pack a day habit. He hasn't smoked in nearly 40 years. But it's only been 20 years since he quit reaching up to his empty shirt pocket for a cigarette. Seems habit is a very powerful force.

After winning that valiant fight he took his family to the temple.
All of his now grown children go there regularly. Two of his granddaughters are now on missions.

Hang in there. Father loves you. He'll help.