Somehow when I say that I'm going to do something it ends up happening. I remember the summer before my sophomore year of high school I told myself that I was going to be lucky enough to have the same seminary class with the cutest, and most popular senior in school. And you know what? I did. And I sat next to him, although I could barely get out a word because I was so starstruck. He was kind to me and it made my entire year. Then last summer I was looking at opportunities to study abroad and I saw a London option for my EXACT major. Of course I told everyone that I was going to go, before I even knew that I could or that I would. But it worked out. I got to study abroad in London and I got to visit my mission AND see a world cup game.
I still am baffled by how lucky I am. I guess I should change one word in that sentence. I should say, I can't believe how blessed I am. Even if I didn't get to go and travel and cross off about 50 things on my bucket list, I should be saying every day: "I can't believe how blessed I am!"
God is good. He is too good to me. I sometimes forget that. I think by visiting my mission it was a gentle slap to the face saying, "Hey, God loves you, and is proud of the work you've accomplished." I didn't know I needed that until I went back. During my study abroad trip I struggled to read the Book of Mormon. I was surrounded by a lot of worldly sleeze and it took its toll on me. I was lucky, no blessed enough, to make friends with some incredible people who were examples to me in being consistent in reading the scriptures and praying. My brother was one of those examples. He joined me in the London Heathrow Airport and together we flew to Russia to visit my mission, and then to Sweden to spend two days in his mission. He read the Book of Mormon vigorously and that image of him reading this tiny version of the Book of Mormon everywhere we went is ingrained in my memory.
I didn't realize how much of a failure I was feeling until I returned. When we landed, we were greeted by some amazing people in the airport. It was one in the morning and a sweet member and an old investigator where waiting there for us. I didn't realize how much I was loved until I returned. I mentioned a feeling of failure. What I meant is that after being home a year I've heard stories from my friends and their mission experiences, or I've heard it from random people during testimony meeting and thought to myself that what they accomplished was more than me; I thought that they were a better missionary than me. I compared myself, and that was a poison to me. It wasn't until I came back to my holy ground in Mother Russia that I realized that I had been successful. I didn't realize how heavy those thoughts had been, nor did I realize I was having those comparative and destructive thoughts. Those thoughts had been eating away at my soul, but returning was the spiritual uplift my soul was craving.
My goal never was to baptize. I mean it was, but it wasn't how I wanted to measure success. It just wasn't realistic. I say that because it is unrealistic to have a goal based off of someone who can exercise their own agency. I can't control their decisions; I can only control mine and the effort I put into the Lord's work. So my goal to measure my success was based off of something totally different. I got the idea from a friend of mine who was also on a mission. She left three weeks before me. In her first week in the field she was in a trio. One of the sisters in her trio was going home at the end of the week. She said that this sister was special. Whenever she walked into a room love immediately filled it, and everyone knew that they were loved by her. They saw it in her eyes. From that moment on, that became my goal. I wanted to be able to have that ability for people to know I loved and cared about them because they could see it pouring out of my eyes.
I didn't know that had been accomplished. Maybe I did. Maybe when I left my mission I knew, but a year away deteriorated my memory of that feeling of accomplishment. Instead it was replaced with destructive, doubtful thoughts. The moment I walked back into the church building, both in Samara, Saratov, and Kazan, I felt this overwhelming feeling of love. I was flocked to. And I flocked to others and there were happy tears and hugs and kisses. This overwhelming feeling of love washed over me, and I knew that I had accomplished my goal, and in return I received so much love from the members there.
I got to Samara on my birthday and they treated me like royalty. There was a picnic that we went to and somehow they got balloons and learned how to sing happy birthday in English. There were a lot of people there that I had never met but hugged me and welcomed me back anyways. There was a young woman who spent the entire day making sure I had a good time. I also got to see an old investigator, and I mean she is old, like 87, and that was one of the best birthday presents; to see her healthy and happy.
In Saratov there was a little party for me, so that everyone could come to see me. They asked me what my favorite hymn was so that we could sing it. They asked me to take a few minutes to update them on my life. They made me and my brother play musical chairs with the ward. They asked to take pictures with me and gave me lots and lots of hugs. It was so memorable. I was so sad to leave them. Later that night I cried on the train, like I had cried almost a year and a half before when I was put on a train by myself headed back to the center of the mission to go home. Memories flooded my brain and I couldn't help but smile and cry.
In Kazan I bartered with a taxi-man and flashed back to when I was in Kazan for the first time and could barely order a taxi. This time I didn't have to worry about him ripping me off. One of the nights there was an english club that I went to see the members of that branch. A missionary I had previously served with, who was just barely out of training when I met him in Saratov, was there. He had changed. The change was so visible that I could hardly believe it was the same elder. I also got to see the most Christ like lady, and she pulled out her phone and asked me who did I want to say hello to. I also got to see my companion's sister! When I walked into the branch building and saw her I had a major flashback to when I was serving with her sister. Now she has taken her sister's place as a volunteer. She was so sweet to me and treated me as if I were her companion. And to some that might seem like she treated me poorly, but in fact it was quite the opposite. She treated me as if we were old friends and kept calling me Sister Johnson. It was so refreshing to be called that again. Then one of the best things ever, a sweet member who I had worked with and pleaded with her to go to the temple told me the most heart wrenching story, but one filled with hope. She told me despite all of her troubles she made it to the temple and has seen the blessings of temple worship. We laughed and cried together as she opened up to me. And when I was walking back to my hotel we stopped and hugged for a solid minute just soaking in the precious little time we had together.
Waving goodbye has become my least favorite hobby. I hold on to people. I am even more loyal than a dog. I have a hard time departing from people I love the friends I make. I try to cling on to them because I need them in my life. I've had friends come and go, but I still remember them. I still try to stay updated on their lives.
Goodbyes were never meant to be said. I always preferred to say, "see you later" because it means that I will see them later, though the time of when was never spoken. One of my favorite hymns is "God Be with You Till We Meet Again." Its not a statement of farewell, but one of assurance that we will meet again, whether in this life or the next.
With all the incredible people I met on my mission and all those I had to forcibly and regretfully say goodbye to I always thought, "If I don't see you again in this life than I will be waiting for you in the next." And then for those older than me I silently prayed to God to have them there to welcome me to Heaven.
Waving goodbye a second time isn't easier. In fact I think it is harder. My last night in Samara the very last person I said goodbye to was a member from the Avrora area. I didn't realize how much she cared about me until I returned. I was pleasantly shocked and happy because I loved her very much. And I still do. We were bouncing along on a creaky old tram and she gave me one of her bracelets to always remember her. I told her, "I don't need this to remember you. I will always remember you. I could never forget someone like you." I meant that. And when I said that I realized that it applied to all the people I knew and loved. I could never forget them. They are engraved in my heart because of their love they showed me they helped me to realize how good God truly is. He places people in our lives at the right moment we need them. And since we are eternal creatures goodbyes are hard to understand and hard to say because we were never meant to say goodbye. This reminds me of Pocahontas when she is showing John Smith how to say hello and goodbye and he stops her hand halfway through saying goodbye and says, "I like hello better." Me too, John. Me too. Hello is better. Hello is eternity.
