My own adventure in this haven were mixed with high emotion and spiritual moments I will never forget.
A young, 19 year old from the Canadian prairies, I was ready to get out of the wheat fields and away from the hockey rinks for a stretch. A few months previous, I received my very own letter addressed from Prophet Thomas S. Monson. Excited and anxious, my fingers slid open the envelope and I carefully excavated the letter, using the envelope to cover the text, as to not ruin the surprise.
I read. It is something all LDS are familiar with, whether they have served or not. The diction is very specific. My voice cracked when my eyes reached my destination and my mind froze. The Dominican Republic. Spanish. Whoa.
But there I was, before I realized, sitting on a plane to Utah. Dressed in my suit, which was too big for me, I felt like a kid going to kindergarten, leaving Mom and Dad at home, not sure how to find my way back.
The most tender and loving people greeted me at the airport in Salt Lake City. When my luggage was retrieved we loaded into the vehicle and carried on. To this day I cannot explain what storm was happening inside. I had been waiting to be a missionary since I was five. I wanted to serve with everything that I could. I didn't speak Spanish. How was I to do this? My stomach dropped even further when I saw that Provo was only a few miles away. I blinked and the building was in front of me, we were parking, walking in. Photo ID, and that was it.
I turned to these marvelous human beings and smiled. They were the first tender mercy the Lord had in store for me during those two years. I hugged them, not wanting to let go, not wanting to face the unknown that my uninhibited imagination was having difficulty processing. I turned, scooped up my luggage handles and rolled off to begin the greatest adventure I have ever had.
Normally, LDS missionaries are always to have a companion. Because I arrived at almost midnight, everyone was already asleep so I carried on alone with the security guard. We stopped for a quick snack where I picked up a yogurt and a banana. My stomach cannot handle food when wound into knots of anxiety. My temporary room was bare. Two bunk beds, some desks, and drawers. Sleep didn't come to me for some time. Insomnia is also stress induced.
All the stories I heard about the MTC were these glamorized, picturesque, incidences that seemed too good to be true. Perhaps that is what the MTC really is, and I attended while it was under construction and that feature was put on hold. I am not sure. The main feeling I recall from my visit was that it was stressful and emotional.
The first time I logged onto myldsmail.net to check my missionary email I came up with a blank webpage. In a rage I complained to my family that this is hard, I am struggling, this isn't for me.
There is a saying at the MTC, "If you can make it to Sunday you will make it all the way through." That replayed and replayed in my head. Thursday night was excruciatingly long. Friday was more tolerable with our first batch of service. By Sunday, the clay that was me was almost ready to be molded. There was more pride and selfishness to be wrung out of me before the Lord could have his way.
What instituted that change was an interesting experience. A letter I received from home touched my heart above anything else I had experienced in those buildings. A tender, loving, and genuine plea for my wellbeing was typed and sent. Sitting in the hot, stuffy, crowded laundry room using the computers my eyes flooded and eyelids fought to keep the dam from overflowing.
The Lord knows what we need when we need it. That is something I didn't have a testimony of back then.
That email cracked what final bit of shell I was clinging to and had me stand there, vulnerable, innocent, and exposed. In that moment I was beginning to be what he needed of me.
Following weeks of classes, study, and service, not to mention gym and meals were different. While still difficult, I could understand how the Lord was pushing me to get to where He wanted me.
The MTC taught me nothing about missionary work, nothing about preaching the gospel, nothing about the scriptures. In the difficulty of the time I was there it was test after test, trial after trial. I am under the impression that the Lord has set up the MTC not for people to walk in as naive Mormons, and leave with a PhD in preaching. But to walk in naive, scared, insecure children of God and leave with a solid testimony, an understanding of prayer, a love for the scriptures, the confidence that they can do hard things, and a slight appreciation for what matters in life.
When it comes down to it, preaching the gospel isn't about flipping through the scriptures, reciting things in foreign languages, knowing the lesson word for word, nor even about tactics. Preaching the gospel is about me. And it is about you. You can't recommend a good restaurant if you haven't eaten there. You cannot suggest a good book if you haven't read it, nor compliment a song without listening to it. Such as the MTC provides the environment for young men and women to experience and live the gospel without distraction for a space of time before going into the streets of Chile, or Japan, or the Dominican Republic to share with strangers how the gospel blesses their life.
After the short time in Provo passed, I couldn't speak a word of Spanish, I didn't know where any powerful or relevant scriptures were found, and I didn't know how to approach strangers on the street or on their doorstep. I did know that I had a testimony. I did know that I could live up to the call the Lord chose for me. While still wrapped in fear of what was to come in the Dominican Republic, I was sure I was doing what the Lord needed of me.
The scariest times of life are when we leave the comfort and joy of the well lit reality, and walk into the dark of the unknown in faith. May we all have faith to do so as life and Heavenly Father so demand. Be not afraid, only believe.
Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father love us. The experiences we have, though difficult and seemingly unfair are all necessary for our progression. And don't think that your experiences are to be the same as everyone else's. That is not the design.
As only the first step in the staircase of my mission, the MTC was the proving ground to myself, that I could be a missionary. There will be more stories to illustrate how I continued to be molded and shaped through the Lord's hands.
TSR
