"cast your mind upon the night"

Yes, I know.  I said I was condensing my life into my other blog, but you should know by now that my declarations often melt into a puddle of goo when my next whim takes hold.  

So here I am back in my "serious" blog, because I want to record something that is very important to me, for my posterity.  Most of them have heard this story, but now it'll be in written form.  

My religious faith includes what we think of as spiritual experiences.  These are moments when we feel we are being influenced by something or someone beyond this world.  That someone, to me, is God.  And one night in June, of 2004, I had one such experience.  Some background:

It was a few weeks before our youngest son was to leave for two years to serve as a missionary for our church.  He was our third son to serve a mission.  Mormon young men, upon reaching age 19 (today they can go at age 18) have the responsibility to give two years of their lives to the Lord.  They do not choose nor do they find out where they'll serve until a few months before they board the plane.   It could be anywhere from Montana to Mozambique. 

Our oldest son served in Tijuana, Mexico, a place so dangerous that I doubt missionaries are currently found there.  He walked on streets that the police avoided.  Our second son went to Venezuela, where, due to political upheaval, I also strongly doubt you'll encounter missionaries today.  

So by the time our third son came of age, I was ready for somewhere relatively  .... safe.  Each son was different.  Oldest Son had lived away from home and didn't go until he was 22.  He had enough street-smarts that I knew he could take care of himself.  Second Son had always been very adaptable.  He seemed to fit in wherever he went, and made friends fairly easily.  Youngest Son was not as adaptable.  He never liked change.  And instead of him getting called to serve in a non-threatening place like Rigby, Idaho, as I had hoped for, he received his letter directing him to Ecuador.  He was to go the farthest of his brothers.  

Brainless, but well-meaning, friends told me of the dangers lurking in Ecuador.  It has the highest poverty rate in South America.  My less-adaptable son had a LOT of adapting ahead of him.  And I was scared for him.  Really scared.  This 6 foot tall, 19 year old young man was my baby.  

I never told him how frightened I was.  And I honestly don't remember if his own excitement sufficiently crowded out his fears.  Yes, of course he had fears.  He would spend two months in a training school to learn Spanish which he would than have to depend upon for 22 months in a far-away, foreign land with only four phone calls home.  He would not see his family, home, nor anything familiar, for 24 months.   Thank goodness for emails.   I learned later that his older brother told him that if anything scary happened, "Don't tell Mom,"  he said,  "Tell me."  

So back to that few weeks before he was to leave.  We'd been getting all his stuff together, ie, paperwork and legal docs, clothing, immunizations, etc., and the departure time was drawing closer and closer.   Very late one night I couldn't sleep.  My mind was writhing with fear.  Would he struggle?  Would he suffer?  Would he be miserable?  Would it be hard?  

So I got up from bed and went downstairs to the family room.  I knelt down at the couch and hashed it all out with God.  My words rambled as I pleaded for my son ... and for myself.  I remember my head was down on my arms on the couch, and my own breathing seemed loud in my ears, like rushing water.  I repeated over and over my list of worries, crying for help.  Then it happened.

Suddenly everything was still.  My breathing, the rushing sound, my frantic thoughts all seemed to stop.  I felt an intense quiet.  I remember stopping and raising my head, instantly noticing that something was different.  What was it?  It suddenly felt like I was inside a very delicate bubble that was quiet and still, with all the commotion shut outside.  I got up and took a few steps, almost afraid that if I moved too quickly, I'd burst the bubble, allowing the trauma to come rushing back in.  But it didn't.  So I went to bed.  

The next morning I was still inside my peaceful bubble.  Not that I didn't worry at all, but I wasn't afraid anymore.  Those last few weeks flew by with all the packing and preparations, and soon we were off to the airport.  His dad and I decided we would fly to Utah with him, and personally take him to the Mission Training Center in Provo.   Our oldest son and his wife, who lived out of state at the time and didn't get to send off their brother at home, surprised him by arriving in Utah and joining us at the MTC.   We attended the meeting that they used to provide for the families of new missionaries, and then hugged and cried as we watched him walk through a door and out of our sight for two years.   It wasn't until a week later, when we got our first letter, that we learned that within ten minutes of leaving us, he practically bumped into his two best friends who had both arrived there several weeks earlier.  We like to call these little unexpected blessings, "tender mercies".

Best friends throughout childhood

Another tender mercy:  In the MTC at that time, the missionaries were divided into over 100 different congregations, called branches, with adult men assigned to each branch, serving as Branch Presidents, similar to pastors or ministers.  My brother was serving as one of the many Branch Presidents in the MTC at that time.   I have no doubt that the Lord personally did some shuffling and our son miraculously ended up in my brother's branch and under his watch.  During those two months our son was in Provo, I didn't have to depend solely on letters to hear how he was doing.   

There is a scripture in the Doctrine and Covenants that reads, "Verily, verily, I say unto you, if you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things.  Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter?  What greater witness can you have than from God?"  (6:22-23)

The homecoming.  Waiting at the airport.  

My conclusion:  Nine years later, I still draw strength from that night.  I know that our sons' missions were right in the Lord's eyes.  I know how it feels to have the Lord's spirit, AKA the Holy Ghost, enwrap me in peace.  The bubble never burst.  I knew our son would be fine and he was.  In fact he thrived in Ecuador.  He loved his mission and came home able to prattle off Spanish fluently with his two older brothers.

Our three former missionary sons.

As they say in our church, they leave as boys, and come home as men.  The same maturity happens to our young women who are able to go.  And we mothers are reminded that they also have a set of Heavenly Parents who love them and are just as concerned that they make it safely back to the home that matters most.