Bookends

Last week, I got to witness the end of one honorable mission and participate in the beginning of another. There were prophetic elements in both events.

I’m not sure I’ll get the terminology right. Our mission has dependent branches. Those are small congregations in outlying areas that report to districts that report to missions. Usually, in more established areas, wards report to stakes and stakes report to areas. The distinction is important for the sake of this story because it means that our mission president, on top of being responsible for many, many young missionaries and a few senior missionaries, must also set apart missionaries who are leaving for the mission field from the dependent branches, as well as release missionaries returning to dependent branches from their fields of labor. I’ve already mentioned what an incredibly challenging schedule our president keeps. Because he was on the road with zone conference commitments, President Armas, one of the counselors in our mission presidency, was called upon to release a missionary on Tuesday and set another apart on Wednesday.

Elder Laguna lives in Ibarra, in the northern part of our mission. He had completed his mission in one of the Guayaquil Ecuador missions and came to our office to be released. He needed to wait for some few hours before President Armas could come to release him. He read a magazine. I asked him if he would like some lunch and he responded he was too nervous to eat. President Armas came to the office around 2:00. He visited with Elder Laguna in the president’s office for a short period of time, during which time I suppose he also released Elder Laguna. As Elder Laguna emerged from the office and began rummaging though his suitcases, I asked him in Spanish if everything was all right. His response was mas o menos, meaning more or less. My response was a tiny bit flippant, something like, “oh, that’s not good.” He pulled a manila envelope out of his suitcase and returned to the president’s office.

When he emerged the second time, I said something to him, addressing him as “Elder.” He pointed to the absence of his nametag and wistfully said he wasn’t an Elder any longer. I hesitated, and lamely said, again in Spanish, “Well, being called a Brother is good thing.” He bravely acknowledged that was true and closed his suitcase. President Armas put his arm around him and helped him with one of his two massive suitcases out the door and down the steps.

One of the assistants was entering the building as Brother Laguna was leaving. He said President Armas was comforting him on the sidewalk as Brother Laguna’s tears flowed. I was grateful that Brother Laguna had been the kind of missionary that was saddened by the completion of his service. And through Brother Laguna’s experience, I caught a glimpse of what my life will be like 21 months from now when I am released by President Wangsgard, take off my nametag and lose that special designation of “missionary.” I hope when my day comes, I will be as tearful and bereft as was Brother Laguna. That will mean I was a good missionary.

The very next day, a sister from the southern reaches of our mission, Riobamba, came with her family to be set apart prior to departing the next day for the MTC in Colombia. Again, President Armas officiated. This time, the entire office staff was invited to participate.

Sister Parra came to the office with what appeared to be her mother and two young siblings, an older sibling, a set of grandparents and another grandmother. The grandparents were dressed in traditional dress complete with bowler hats which they respectfully removed while in the president’s office.

Riobamban Women in Traditional Dress

We opened with a hymn and Sister Parra’s grandmother gave the opening prayer. President Armas asked one of the assistants to bear his testimony, which he did. He then looked at me and asked me to do the same. I cobbled something together in Spanish, but it did not begin to reflect my thoughts as I watched this three-generation family send their daughter off on a mission, probably farther away from home than any of them had ever traveled in their whole lives. I can only hope that the Spirit carried into their hearts what I intended to say. Elder Ward also bore his testimony with tears in his eyes, half in Spanish and half in English. I’m certain the Spirit bore witness of his words to the family.

President Armas then set Sister Parra apart with Elder Ward’s assistance, and she was given a blessing. President Armas asked Sister Parra to bear her testimony. She bore strong witness to the truthfulness of the gospel as both she and her family members wiped away tears. We sang a closing hymn and her grandfather offered a closing prayer. We took some pictures of the gathered family and they filed out, thanking us. I remarked to Elder Ward that it had been well worth coming to work that day just for that experience.

It is difficult to express the tender feelings of my heart as I watched this family exercise sufficient faith to send their daughter far away for 18 months. I am not fluent enough to understand how long the family have been members of the church, but given the average, probably not very long. And yet they have the faith to send her away. I couldn’t help drawing the parallel with our premortal life, and what it must have been like for us to say good-bye to people we loved as they began their sojourn in mortality. I am certain that the scene was much the same. Prayers must have been said, tearful goodbyes spoken, and then, at last, the moment arrived when that loved-one departed to prove him- or herself.

This moment was prophetic as well, but in reverse. It felt like I was repeating a premortal event in my life when I watched someone else say goodbye before coming to earth. It was a profound experience and another reason I am grateful to be here.