"Sometimes a single phrase of testimony can set events in motion that affect someone's life for eternity"
--- Dieter F. Uchtdorf (Apostle of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints)
The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Life is all about taking things one step at a time. The same can generally be said about a person's experience with the gospel too. When a person is introduced to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, they're invited to investigate it for themselves through personal experiences. A testimony is a personal witness of truth and the best way to gain a testimony of the gospel is by acting on our faith in Jesus Christ. This includes prayer, scripture study, church attendance, and keeping the commandments. We have been promised by our loving Heavenly Father that if we have a sincere desire to know if something is true and have real intent, that we can pray in faith and receive an answer through the Holy Ghost (See "A Still, Small Voice"). It is through these simple acts of faith that we see our testimony continue to grow and our love of God increase. The straightest path to increased faith and testimony is through action.
**NOTE: If you wish to get in contact with missionaries of the Church to learn more, you can do so at https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/comeuntochrist/requests/missionary-visit
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MY FIRST FULL DAY IN MEXICO BEGINS
Behold the first dawn in Mexico as a young missionary of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. The journey begins with an albeit sleep-deprived step. An alarm went off at 6:30 a.m. sharp. It might have even been 5 to 10 minutes early. I wanted to die of exhaustion as I lay on the top of my bunk immobile waiting for everyone else to make the first moves. Someone flipped the switch and the light was blaring in my top-bunk face.
After waiting far too long to use the restroom, I snuck into the bathroom to take a speedy shower. We were rushed for time and the office Elders made sure I knew it. The mildew embedded shower was gross but a wash was well needed so I dealt with it. But alas, I soon realized that the humidity caused me to sweat immediately after drying off. Being dry was a blessing I took for granted my whole life. We felt gross. Our shirts and slacks clung to our skin like a wet bag. The sweat running down my back felt like ants. It tickled, unpleasantly may I add. I really thought I had ants in my clothes for the first few days!
The next thing I remember is rushing out the door trailing impatient feet towards the Mission Office (See "Mission Administration"). The walk itself was less than 10 minutes but the way we walked, you'd think we were running behind schedule. Upon arrival, we had a meager breakfast, got our sweaty photos taken for the records, and so forth.
We had a welcome orientation with President Morales in the chapel. Seeing as he didn’t speak English, one of his APs (A.P meaning Assistant to the President), Elder Rawle, had to translate everything for us. For the second half, Elder Harvey translated (See "Two A-Maori-Canos in Mexico"). I thought it was amazing. I hadn’t had much exposure to bilingual people before and to see a gringo understand President speaking so quickly was amazing to me. I couldn’t wait to be able to do that too someday. I didn’t expect that day to be any day soon.
We sang a hymn, someone said the prayer, and then President Morales stood up and asked if I would share my testimony. I was shocked to be put on the spot like that! (There may have been someone else too but I don't remember).
TESTIMONIES
The word "testimony" has a few definitions. First, "a formal written or spoken statement, especially one given in a court of law". Second, "evidence or proof provided by the existence or appearance of something". And lastly, and of course, this is the one relevant to this blog, "a public recounting of a religious conversion or experience".
When I think of a "testimony", I think of a declaration or conviction. But when I say someone “shared their testimony”, in the context of Christianity, it means they expressed their sincere feelings of Christ and gospel truths. For example, one could say something along the lines of “I know that Christ lives. I believe the church is true. I feel God's love. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen”. In many wards, members develop unnecessary habits of sharing lengthy stories or giving “shoutouts” or other things but these are best done at other times in private. I feel strongly that the best testimonies are to the point and Christ-centered.
Word choice isn't quite as important so long as what is said is sincere and kind-spirited. There's no script. No single way to share a testimony. Still, some people may get frustrated when they hear testimonies that include phrases like “I know” which is a phrase that many members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints are just accustomed to saying. Either the person who takes offense is skeptical that the person really knows (they nitpick the word choice), or they feel frustrated because they themselves don’t know something. Whatever the case, you don’t have to say, “I know”. It’s a habit that has been carried through church culture but it doesn’t have to be said. You could just as easily say “Christ lives. The church is true. God answers prayers”, or anything else. Wording shouldn’t distract from what is being testified. You don’t have to look too deeply into the casual and commonly used filler “I know”.
Faith is foundational to testimony. The base layer that holds it together. You can know something and still not have a testimony of it. Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. (Heb. 11:1)
I think of the many missionary experiences found in the Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ. There is one that comes to mind: A missionary named Ammon is serving the people and gains the favor of the king, Lamoni. King Lamoni falls to the earth as if dead (which in this case is a good thing). Two days pass and still, nothing happens, and the queen and family mourn. The people want to bury him but the queen calls in Ammon, believing that he is not dead. Ammon assures her that he will rise the next day and asks the queen, “Believest thou this?’ And she said unto him: I have had no witness save thy word…nevertheless I believe…” (vs. 9). The next day, the king awakens and is a new man. Shortly after, the whole kingdom becomes converted to the Lord. I will repeat that you don’t need to know something to have a testimony of it, to have faith in it, and to be blessed by that faith—yea, desire to believe. Said Jesus to the ruler of the synagogue, “Be not afraid, only believe.” (Mark 5:36)
A frantic father brought his son who was tormented with “a dumb spirit” to the Lord, said he to the Savior, “If thou canst do anything, have compassion on us, and help us.” Jesus answers, “If thou canst believe, all things are possible…’ And straightway the father cried out, ‘Lord I believe; help thou mine unbelief.” The foul spirit was rebuked (Mark 9:17-26). Most of us don’t have perfect faith, but what we can do is use the faith we do have and seek to have more.
Given the impromptu opportunity to share my testimony with our group of new arrivals, I looked back at President Morales, “Really? Right now? In English or Spanish?”. He encouraged either I was more comfortable with so I said I'd try half and half. I got up and gave a simple testimony in simple Spanish that I knew that God would bless us despite our imperfections, that the gospel was true, and that I was excited to serve. I’m certain my Spanish was choppy. My accent was probably awful. But I felt good as I looked at my friends at the beginning of our long journey. I repeated the same sentiments in English and returned to my seat.
TRAINERS
All of us arrivals stood on one side of the chapel. The doors across the room opened and in came a flood of giddy missionaries as numerous as we were. Each bearing bright smiles, chatting and stirring incessantly like a child on Christmas scouting out the gifts to see which package they get to unwrap.
President Morales read off our companionship assignments. It was explained to us that we’d meet each other halfway across the chapel, give the “handshake hug” (for lack of better words) which was the culture, and get our picture taken together in that order. My legs just about lost their strength I was so excited, and I was still incredibly tired.
This was the moment that we would meet the guy that we'd be paired off with 24/7 for the foreseeable future. This was your trainer! This was the young guy who was responsible for showing you the ropes in addition to keeping you safe and otherwise well in the world. Your other half. At a time such as this, as a stranger in a foreign country surrounded by people who spoke a language mysterious and foreign to you, this was the person who you would have to lean on until you could get on your own feet. Like a child birthed into the world, they were essentially as much a father figure as they were your brother, your roommate, your peer, your friend, your sidekick as you were to them.
“Elder Robertshaw will be trained by… Elder Howard!”. “Yayyy!” But then two guys stepped forward from the crowd followed by laughs and immediate inquiry, “Which Elder Howard?”. “Elder Howard from Idaho!” “Yayyy!”. Just my luck that there would be two Elder Howards in the room; just like there were more than one Elder Lopez's, Martinez's, and so forth.
I see this tall, skinny white guy with brown hair literally come jogging towards me proceeding to hug me tightly. To be fair, I was rather relieved in the moment. I saw other buddies get Hispanic companions. I could only guess how they'd get along with the language barrier for those first weeks. I almost pitied them at first. I felt fortunate to get an American companion. Little did I appreciate that people learn Spanish faster from native speakers as companions than American ones because they have no other option than to practice when English doesn’t help. Sink or swim. Either way, Hispanic or American, I know that each companionship was assigned by deliberate inspiration. It was all meant to be.
Elder Howard’s Spanish wasn’t always what he wanted it to be but I think he was his own biggest critic (I think we're all our biggest critics). I thought him better than he often considered himself to be. He was a year into his mission so he understood Spanish even though his accent was hard American with an “R”. He said his companions never corrected his Spanish so he developed bad pronunciation habits and told me right off the bat that his goal was that I would speak better than him by the end of our three months together. I often told him not to worry about his accent and that I would do anything to trade places with him. To understand. To express myself, even if not perfectly but to get my thoughts out there into the open. I am grateful for the faith and patience he had for me. It was much appreciated and needed.
President Morales instructed all of us more. Although I don’t remember much or didn't understand the Spanish, I believe most of it was directed towards the trainers anyway. I imagine I wasn’t too focused on what was being said because I was caught up in the moment and trusted my trainer to be on the ball as I just waited there patiently for Elder Howard to tell me what was going on.
Naturally, the cities and areas we were assigned to work in for the foreseeable future was wherever our trainer had been working in at that time (See "Mission Administration"). I had to ask him what it was called at least a million times. Monterreal (Moan-tay-ray-al) in the city of Rio Bravo. Sounded fancy. Sounded exotic. By the name, I imagined it being either a mountainous place or similar to Montana. I guess it didn’t sink in yet that there were no mountains in any direction for miles and Mexico is very much nothing like Montana.
Before we departed, Elder Rawle filmed each of us new arrivals giving a short introduction of ourselves and bearing a brief testimony (He was in charge of filmography for the Mission Offices too) and we wrote down our goals and feelings which the offices kept until we went home two years later as a sort of "before and after" gift and keepsake to remember. It was really cool.
Saying goodbye to the gang, our District D family, before taking our taxis to the bus station was sickening. I felt like I was leaving my family all over again. I had adjusted to living with these comrads for the last six weeks and I didn’t have a clue when I'd see any of them again. In the very least, I was thrilled to find out that Elder Johnson would be serving in the same Zone as me in Rio Bravo so I saw him a week or so later. But that first week felt like a month. I never worked myself so hard until that time in my life and for 7 days a week no less. I wouldn’t see the rest of the guys until around November two months later and again for the mission Christmas party (See "Celebration"). Until then, it was me and Elder Howard against the world. A new world to me.
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