Five Years and Forever

There is a common misconception out there about LDS missionary service.
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This "Mormon Myth" says that missionaries give two years (for men) or eighteen months (for women) to serve the Lord.

False.

Missionaries, when they serve the way the Lord intended, serve for much, much longer.

I'm not talking about six-week extensions here.

I'm talking about the kind of dedication that takes those 18-24 months and multiplies them into daily service for the rest of that young Elder or Sister's life and onto eternity.

I'm talking about forever.

Five years ago today I "officially" began my mission. I put on the skirt, the little black nametag, hugged my parents goodbye, walked through those MTC doors and never looked back.

In reality, though, my mission began the minute I gained a testimony of the gospel. It began with my mother teaching me Primary songs and my dad teaching me the Plan of Salvation in Family Home Evening. It began when I learned how to forgive those who wronged me. It began when I learned how to serve those around me. It began when I accepted my first calling in the Beehive class and gave my first talk in Sacrament Meeting.

It began when I decided I would be a disciple of Christ.

I haven't been a perfect missionary since then. Throughout the majority of most days I feel like I am failing. But it is in those moments when I come to know my Savior better--because where I lack, He steps in and makes up the difference.

My mission in Texas ended three years and two and a half months ago, but those people, that place, and most importantly that gospel has stayed with me every single day since then.

I think of my mission when I look at my mission plaque hanging on my bedroom wall. I think of my mission when I walk out our front door past my Texas welcome sign. I think of my mission when I see my nametag, framed with my husband's, sitting on our bookcase. I think of my mission when I look at the pictures of the Temple in my home and I remember how the Temple became not only my personal goal, but the goal of so many who I taught. I think of my mission when I pull barbecue sauce out of the refrigerator. I think of my mission when I muster up courage to say hi to somebody I've never talked to before. I think of my mission when I accept opportunities to serve, however small or large they may be. I think of my mission when I back up our car and there is no companion waving to me through the rear-view mirror. I think of my mission when I play certain CDs to fill up the silence of our days. I think of my mission when I walk into our closet and see some of those faded shirts and shoes and skirts that I just can't bring myself to part with, no matter how worn out they are. I think of my mission when I see my husband's handwriting and remember the letters and testimonies we shared while we were both serving.

Most of all, I think of my mission when I look at my daughter--because my mission president's wife taught me that I am a mother who knows and someday, this precious daughter of mine will be a woman who knows. My whole mission was the best MTC for motherhood I could have ever imagined (or survived).

Today I remember. Today I give thanks. Today I throw a few more "please blesses" into my vocabulary and a few more "bless her hearts" into my thinking and a few more "have a blessed day"s into my interactions with others.

Today, I am only five years into this mission that I hope lasts forever.