The Pros and Cons of Missionary Service

by Michelle Bulsiewicz

The other day a memory popped up on Facebook

and I found myself scrolling through mission photos from when I came home twelve years ago. As I clicked through dozens of images—this is back when posting an entire album of pictures to social media was a thing—it brought up a range of emotions that I hadn’t dwelled on in some time.

As my faith has transitioned, so have my feelings about my mission to northeast Brazil. I have so many fond memories. I met so many wonderful people. I learned so much. But there’s also so much I regret. From almost the moment I came home I was plagued with feelings of guilt and inadequacy. Looking back, I can see how much it harmed my mental health, even as if changed me for the better in so many ways.

Like everything else, it’s complicated.

I wanted to go on a mission my whole life. Both my mom and maternal grandmother had served missions, and I wanted to be like them. Also, I was something of a born feminist and I hated that boys were expected to go but girls were just supposed to get married. I wanted to prove that I could do it too. I wanted God to be able to expect of me just as much as he could of any young man.

After experiencing the incredible difficulties that come with mission service, I almost immediately changed my tune once I came home. Now, I don’t think anyone should be required to go, boys or girls. It’s way too much to force on anyone who isn’t thrilled out of their minds to be there. Only one hundred percent enthusiasm and certainty of purpose can get anyone through the trials of that kind of experience.

I would like to preface everything else I’m going to say by stating that this reflects the circumstances of the time and place of my mission and my experiences in it. Not everyone will feel the same, not even people I served with.

With that said, here’s a list of the pros and cons of my missionary service:

Pro: It expanded my world. I was completely immersed in the language, culture, and experiences of people who lived very differently from me. I honestly think you could serve a mission in your hometown and you would still get at least some of this experience, because as a missionary you talk to everyone. Your tiny group of people you normally interact with, who are usually from a similar background, education, and socioeconomic status as you, is blown open and you are exposed to people from all walks of life. Getting thrown into a world where most people had little concept of how I’d grown up was so isolating and difficult at first, but in the end, so worthwhile. Honestly, everyone should experience what that’s like to some degree. It connects you to everyone else in humanity.

Pro: It matured me. I went on my mission a few years before they lowered the age limit, so I was twenty-one and had already gone to college away from home for a few years. Still, I had been mostly sheltered all my life and BYU had not really prepared me for all that was out there. Serving in one of the most dangerous cities in the world definitely exposed me to a lot. But most of all, I had to learn a lot of emotional maturity. I had to learn how much it wasn’t about me. I had to expand my view so much wider to those around me than I ever had before. I had to learn about patience and growth and things not working out the way you wanted them to. This prepared me for adulthood in an intense, sped-up way not much else could have provided.

If they do decide to serve, I hope they’re able to stay true to themselves and their inherent worth throughout. I wish I could have.

Pro: It taught me how to handle difficult things. Like I said, I really hadn’t gone through very much before my mission. After my mission, I knew how to kill a mouse with a broom, get rid of head lice, live without running water for two weeks, face down a mugger, deal with the worst sides of all kinds of people—I could go on and on. Not everyone’s mission is this stressful, but I do think I needed these experiences. Now, no matter what emergency I’m faced with, I’m calm. I’ve dealt with worse. I know I can get through it.

Con: It taught me to submit to leadership even when it contradicted my intuition. I wanted to be the most obedient, best sister missionary there was. In my mission, sisters had a reputation for being lazy and whiny. I never wanted to fall into that stereotype, though quite frankly oftentimes it was inevitable. Still, I tried so hard to be different, and because of this I tried to do everything my nineteen- to twenty-year-old leaders told me to do, even if it didn’t feel right to me at all. I ignored the fact that I knew and interacted with the people I was teaching, and they often did not. I ignored the fact that I had stewardship over these people and needed to follow my own intuition and revelation about what was right for them. Instead, I worried about pleasing the elders, often to the detriment of myself and those I taught. This is the number one thing I would go back and change if I could.

Con: It taught me to value numbers and appearances over people and experiences. My mission in particular focused a lot on numbers. There’s a lot of talk out there in the teachings about missionary work about focusing on people instead of numbers—but my goodness there is a whole lot of focus on numbers. Elders in my mission were hounding me about them nearly every day. I will tell you many of them did not worry nearly so much about the people behind them, neither the people we were teaching nor me and my companion and how we were doing. It was all about why we didn’t teach enough lessons, didn’t have anyone coming to church, didn’t have anyone committed to baptism. Never mind that we had worked ourselves to the bone trying to make it happen. Never mind that the people we were working with had struggles and doubts and concerns that were not so simple to overcome. Never mind that maybe it was important for them to actually be converted and committed to a church before they joined it. They only wanted the number. I fell prey to this because, again, I wanted to please my leaders. I know the people I taught could tell. I really feel like I failed them in this way.

Con: It made me feel like a failure. Speaking of feeling like I failed—I do not have the ideal missionary personality. I’ve begun to suspect I have some neurodivergence in me, but I know for a fact I’m highly introverted, shy, anxious, and socially awkward. Jana Riess put it well in her book, The Next Mormons, that certain personalities feel like they have to “foot bind” themselves to fit the mold of what a missionary is supposed to be. The result is a bundle of exhaustion and anxiety. The fact was, no matter how hard I tried, I was only able to be myself. I wish I would have practiced more acceptance of my strengths and weaknesses instead of trying to force myself to be someone else. But the environment of a mission can lead to a whole lot of comparison and self-flagellation and in a lot of ways I’m still coming to terms with this.

I could go on. This only barely touched on the sexism inherent in missionary service in the LDS church. It was so blatant to me in the lack of leadership opportunities and training available to sisters. I know some things have improved thanks to lowering the age limit—but still much has not.

To this day, I still haven’t read through my mission journals. I’ve been too afraid of what I’d find there, of the person I was, of the reality of all that I went through. But at the same time, I would never want to give up the experience I had. I know that when my sons get closer to the age of being able to serve, I intend to share all of this with them. I want them to get the full picture and go in with eyes wide open. If they do decide to serve, I hope they’re able to stay true to themselves and their inherent worth throughout. I wish I could have.

Boys Run Faster than Girls

by Angelique Bodin

Normalize “I Believe” in LDS Testimony

by Miki

In the context of Latter-day Saint testimony meetings,

the phrase “I know” has become pretty ubiquitous—it’s almost required to say at least one “I know” statement as part of your testimony. We don’t hear “I believe” or “I hope” said over the pulpit nearly as frequently as we hear “I know”.

We value certainty very much in our religion. We like having answers; we like knowing. As a church culture, we seem to have a fear, or at least a skepticism, of questions and uncertain statements. When it comes to bearing testimonies, it almost feels like we must say “I know” in order to keep people comfortable, or even just to avoid being seen as a “project”.

But I feel differently. To me, saying “I hope” actually sounds like a stronger testimony than saying “I know.” Somehow, “I hope” and “I believe” statements feel more sincere, more full of faith, more vulnerable, and more humble. It implies an acknowledgement of how far one has to reach a perfect knowledge, but still shows a willingness to get there. Personally, hearing “I have faith in” or “I hope” as part of someone’s testimony would give me chills—it feels much more powerful, yet earnest. Perhaps the Spirit would have a greater opportunity to testify in response to such a humble and honest expression of faith.

On the other hand, saying “I know” can suggest a feeling that one has already arrived at a perfect knowledge. It seems to say, “I don’t believe I will receive a more powerful witness of this principle in this life than the one I have already received.” While I do believe that some people can arrive at that level of knowledge about some things in specific cases, I don’t believe that it is all that common. At least, probably not common enough to justify the frequency with which we hear “I know” said over the pulpit.

There are two definitions of “knowing” in the Church, and we tend to mix them up

We need to acknowledge that within LDS culture and doctrine, the word “know” has two distinct meanings. One meaning signifies a deep conviction or confidence, while the other represents a state of absolute knowledge to the point that one has “faith no longer.” Most of us intend the first definition when bearing testimonies over the pulpit, but the way we say it often implies the second.

However, because our doctrine specifically separates “faith” from “knowledge” and even highlights the value of not knowing, I feel that it is important to reflect that in our speech.

Let’s look at the scriptures:

“Faith is not to have a perfect knowledge of things; therefore if ye have faith, ye hope for things which are not seen, which are true.” (Alma 32:21)
“And because of the knowledge of this man he could not be kept from beholding within the veil…and he had faith no longer, for he knew, nothing doubting.” (Ether 3:19–20)
“Now, as I said concerning faith—that it was not a perfect knowledge—even so it is with my words. Ye cannot know of their surety at first, unto perfection, any more than faith is a perfect knowledge.” (Alma 32:26)
“Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” (Hebrews 11:1)

Clearly, the difference between faith and knowledge is a matter of significance in scriptural text. Probably for good reason, too: when we don’t know something but choose to show faith in God anyway, that is when we experience the most growth. After all, the whole point of our mortality is to be tested and tried, to learn and grow—stuff that would be a bit hard to do if we had a perfect knowledge of the Gospel! Christ summed this up by saying: “Blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.”

Saying “I hope” or “I have faith” reminds others that it’s okay to only have a seed of faith

When we get in the habit of frequently saying “I know,” we not only tell ourselves that we have already arrived, so to speak, but we also raise the pressure of testimony-bearing for others. It can make having a strong faith feel unattainable, especially to those whose who are spiritually struggling. The “I know” can feel like an extra barrier between a person and God, causing some to feel frustrated or even unworthy for not having been given capital-K Knowledge like everyone else seems to have been.

In fact, I would wager that most members of the Church have hesitated, or will one day hesitate, to bear testimony because they aren’t sure they “know.” Saying “I think” or “I hope” over the pulpit does not feel appropriate when “I know” is the culturally sanctioned way to speak in testimony meeting. Saying “I hope the Church is true” sounds odd even if that may actually be a better reflection of one’s belief. So, many people in this situation may simply choose to not bear their testimony at all to avoid the cultural discomfort of uncertainty.

But this does not feel right to me—there has to be space for everyone, right? We say there is, but does our language reflect that? Does it truly feel safe for doubters and faith-shaken members to express their level of faith, though small may it be?

Think also of the new convert, or those returning to church after a time away. How wonderful would it be to hear a humble “I hope” testimony? It would be a soothing balm to the soul as it reminds them that there is nothing wrong with having a “seed” of faith. It would show them—not just tell them—that they don’t have to have a perfect knowledge to be in the club. It would also be a great reminder for the seasoned, life-long member that faith is something we continually work at, and that it’s okay if we find ourselves with a weaker faith at some points in our lives. (Because we will—uncertainty is a natural and important part of everyone’s faith journey!)

And finally, think of the children and youth in the congregation. How amazing would it be for the doubtful teen to hear a heartfelt testimony of uncertain hope from a trusted adult? It would signal to them that they are not defective for having questions and doubts, that they can still be an active participant in the Church even when they don’t “know.” And how wonderful would it be for a child to grow up hearing this type of language spoken over the pulpit? They would grow up thinking more critically about their own belief, not just reciting the rote “I know the Church is true” phrase when they bear their own testimonies. They would really have to think for themselves about what they believe. They would grow up with an understanding that faith is something we work for throughout our entire lives. They would have a greater preparation to “endure to the end.”

Words matter. The cultural and psychological connotations that come attached to certain words affect us deeply. We are constantly shaped by them, using them to send messages to ourselves and each other—even subconsciously. The words “I know” are no exception, especially within our church where there is such a big cultural emphasis on certainty.

I feel that it would help so many members if we let go of our grip on the idea of knowing and became more comfortable with expressions of uncertainty. Of course, there is nothing wrong with knowing—learning is one of the ultimate goals in mortality—but for most of us, we don’t have that kind of knowledge right now, at least not for most things. Most of us have faith, hope, trust, and belief in Gospel principles. Most of us have questions, doubts, and confusions too, but we still show faith anyway. And that is okay!

So let’s be more real with ourselves. We can say, “I hope the Church is true.” We can say, “I trust that God loves me.” We can say, “I don’t know if the Church is true right now, but I have faith in its principles and maybe someday I will know.” We can say, “I have many doubts today, but I’m still trying.” We can say “I believe,” “I desire,” “I pray for,” “I wish,” “I long for,” “I have faith that,” “I have a conviction of,” “I have a firm belief in,” “I want,” or simply “I feel.” We can be genuine and honest about where we really are on our spiritual path. I guarantee someone in the congregation needs to hear it!

Peace Peace

by Amy Freeman

*Notes from the author:

This is an original art piece I made to go along with my poem.

Underneath the rubble, Christ’s words through the scriptures echo out from the broken trumpet of the angel Moroni. Rising above the wreckage, the dove carries this cry like a banner into the morning that invites all to remember that we are called to Christ’s work of collective liberation in this life, not just the next. It’s a picture of the grief at our failings, and a hope that we’ll heed the call.

Over the last few years, I’ve felt bothered by the “hush” we have in our congregations around tragic events that happen in our society. It’s as if the church sometimes serves as a place for communal amnesia instead of communal grieving and healing. And this has only been amplified to a deafening level over the last many months in regards to Palestine and the daily suffering that is unfolding.

I’m not a writer, but I have felt such a profound grief and sadness at the loss of life, and trust in this community when it comes to speaking up and out in solidarity with the oppressed, that I wrote a poem. It came to me one day as I reflected on my experiences sitting in Sunday school this past December. It’s everything I wished to say out loud, but didn’t, and still haven’t (at church at least)…”

It’s a Means Not an End

by KC Bramer

I was doing my Come Follow Me scripture study. Like many of us

I do my study using a group that puts out a YouTube video each week. This week the study was focused on Paul’s letter to the Galatians. Paul had taught the Galatians and another group had come in after Paul left. They were teaching that the Galatians needed to follow the laws of Moses. Paul was writing to explain to them that it was not necessary due to the Atonement of Jesus Christ.

The teacher directed attention to Galatians 3:24, “the law was our schoolmaster.” He explained that a schoolmaster was not a harsh person as the title might suggest. Rather he invited us to think of a “schoolmaster” as one tasked with getting the children where they needed to go.

To me, this meant that Paul was saying that the law is meant to show us how to live life as a follower of Christ. The law was not meant to determine who was good, who was bad, who was beloved and who was not. In other words, the law was/is the means.

I put away my tablet and journal and thought about this. We have a lot of rules as members of the LDS Church. If my thinking is correct, the purpose of those rules is to help us to follow the two Great Commandments. Love God. Love your neighbor as yourself, although an alternate interpretation could be love your neighbor as you are loved by God.

Two laws came into my head immediately. The first was tithing. The purpose of tithing is to help us to love our neighbors by giving out of what we have to those who have less. It could also help us to love God more by loving our possessions less. It doesn’t feel that way though. I rarely hear any lesson on tithing given without Malachi 3 being invoked. We pay tithing so we will get things, or as “fire insurance.” It also sometimes feels like tithing is the literal price you pay to go to the temple.

The second law is the Word of Wisdom. It’s not really a law or even a commandment as far as I know, but it sure is treated as one. It does have some very common sense advice on taking care of your body, the one God gave you, thus showing love and gratitude to God. I also think that it helps you to love yourself by caring for yourself and enabling you to care for others as needed. As with tithing, it doesn’t feel that way. It feels more like a yardstick to determine who the righteous and unrighteous are. It seems more like a way for the Church as a whole to say to everyone else, “We are better than you because we follow this law from God. We do not engage in worldly things like a glass of wine or a cup of coffee.”

I also thought about garments. Garments can remind us that we are cared for and protected by God. However it’s another thing we use to judge who the worthy and unworthy are. Some will look at clothing, mostly those of women, to determine if they are wearing garments or if they are wearing inappropriate clothing that allows garments to be seen. (Think short pencil skirt.)

I wonder if our Heavenly Parents and older brother Jesus look at us and shake their heads. Their message to us is simple: Love God, Love others. They gave us some rules to help us do this. The rules are the means, not the ends. Love is the end. Just love.

Contributors:

Michelle Bulsiewicz

Originally from San Jose, California, I now reside in Salt Lake County with my husband and two boys. I am the former assistant arts and entertainment editor at Deseret News and, in what little spare time I have, I like to write novels, read obsessively, and practice yoga.

Angelique Bodin

I am a singer/songwriter and when I struggle to make sense of something or it feels particularly important, I write lyrics and melodies to help myself make sense of what feels beyond my reach. I teach middle school choir and drama and am an editor. When I teach or edit, I feel like I am helping others put themselves out into the world. It has taught me how to put myself out into the world. I am also an avid runner and enjoy doing local races whenever I can. I live with my husband, Jay, and four kids in Mesa, AZ.

Miki

I am an active member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I am also an LGBTQ+ ally, advocate for women, and an avid asker of questions. Professionally I am a video game developer, and after work I enjoy baking, designing enamel pins, making fairy houses, collecting sparkly objects, and watching so-bad-it's-good movies. But above all, I love spending time with my spicy 2-year-old daughter who loves pigs, monster trucks, dinosaurs, and makeup!

Amy Freeman

I’m a mom of four from Texas who is passionate about the work of collective liberation through restorative practices. When I’m not snuggled up in pjs at home, I love to get outside for swimming, paddle boarding, and long walks with friends. Some of my recent passions are painting murals, chaos gardening, and making the perfect crepe.

KC Bramer

I live in St. Paul Minnesota with my husband of 20 years and our two young cats. I work as a pharmacist. My hobbies are reading, writing, biking, hiking and knitting. I also like baking cookies and banana bread. Raised in a two-faith family, I am interested in the practices in other Christian faiths.

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