I just realized a few minutes ago that forty years ago today was my first day as a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Without looking back at my journal, there would be very few things that I remember about that day, but I'm glad I can read about the several inches of snow on the ground and covering the trees that were sparkling in the bright sunlight as my parents and I drove from our rural home to the Missionary Training Center where I would prepare for my service in the Bogota Colombia Mission. We were an hour late in arriving, so didn't have much time for visiting and good byes to my parents, sister, and brother and their spouses, and my new college sweetheart -- all of whom I was leaving behind for a year and a half. The decision to devote these 18 months of my life as a missionary was a hard one for me to make and keep, but I had made a personal commitment to myself and to the Lord that I would fulfill the call that had been extended to me, and I was determined that I would do my best, in spite of my feelings of inadequacy and my newly found friendship with my future husband.
The night before, on Wednesday October 28, 1981, my Stake President and his counselor had set me apart as a missionary and had given me a blessing filled with wonderful promises, along with some good advice. I was counseled to learn to love the people and the culture of Colombia, to bear my testimony often, to not let fear overcome faith, to obey the rules and do what I would be asked, to use my money wisely, always, to take care of my health, eat good food and get plenty of sleep, and to write in my journal daily. I know I wasn't perfect in all of these things, but I did try to follow this advice.
During my training I was blessed with a good fellow missionary companion who was good for me. She was much more outgoing than I, and had much more experience in the Spanish language than I did, but we were in similar situations as she had broken off her engagement when she felt the need or the call to be a missionary. We were the only two missionaries in our class or our district, and spent the next two and a half months working together to improve our Spanish and learn the gospel, culture, and service lessons that we were expected to share and follow as both welfare service and proselyting missionaries. There was a delay in our visa's for Colombia being approved, so we stayed a few extra weeks at the Missionary Training Center and learned a bit of American Sign Language before traveling to Colombia with another group of sister missionaries in January of 1982.
There is absolutely no room in one blog post to share all of the amazing, frustrating, and even a few unnerving or scary happenings of those missionary times, but I will always be grateful for the opportunity I have had of serving as a missionary of Jesus Christ to the people of Colombia, and for all of those who helped and supported me in that decision. I lived in several of the most beautiful areas in this world . . . Bogota, Bucaramanga, Barranquilla, Ibague, and Florencia. I met hundreds of amazing, resourceful, humble, and loving people. I was able to bear witness many many times that Jesus Christ is our Savior, our brother, and our most loving friend. That through the prophet Joseph Smith he has restored his church to the earth and provided us with the truth and wisdom of ancient prophets found in The Book of Mormon, Another Testament of Jesus Christ. That through Jesus Christ, each one of us can find peace and strength and know the way to return to our loving Heavenly Father. I will forever be grateful for those months spent as a missionary that started forty years ago today.
My photos are few and faded and don't do justice at all to the beautiful country of Colombia:
