The first thing different was the heat.
I hadn’t even gotten off the plane in Phoenix yet, it was the first week of December, and it had to be at least 85 degrees outside. In addition to my 100% wool suit, I was wearing a full-length winter coat that I’d had on since I left the Provo MTC at 4 o’clock that morning. “How could anyone here even remember Christmas when it’s so hot?” I mumbled to myself. Being a missionary was definitely going to take some getting used to.
I’d been called to serve in the Arizona Tempe Mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Both my mission president and his wife were the most loving, generous people I had ever met, and Sister George’s “celestial sauce” was, well, celestial!
Like most missionaries, I was half-excited and half-terrified to be on a mission, where everything and everyone seemed so new and different. After we arrived at the mission home and had an orientation meeting and meal, we met individually with President George. It was then that I learned that my first assignment would be 100 miles to the south in Tucson, and that I would be serving with an elder that was one month from completing his mission. What had already seemed like the longest day of my life became two hours longer, as several missionaries loaded our yet-unblemished suitcases back into the mission van and drove us south.
The next few weeks were a blur of tracting, teaching, and lots and lots of doors being shut in our faces. My senior companion was a wonderful missionary with much wisdom to share, and there seemed to be little if any time to even think about, let alone to feel any longing for home and family.
One of the families we were teaching seemed especially promising. The father, Tim, had been disabled while serving in the military and was unable to provide for his wife, Irma, two young daughters, and a newborn baby girl. Although they faced daily challenges just trying to make ends meet, they had a bright, hopeful outlook and humbly responded to the gospel message we shared. At the conclusion of our second discussion we invited them to be baptized, and both Tim and Irma answered affirmatively. It would be my first baptism!
With just a week to go until Christmas, I began to allow occasional thoughts of home and family to intrude. The holidays just wouldn’t be the same, especially Christmas morning. That was always the big moment for our family. We’d usually wake up (if we’d slept at all!) at 4am and then watch in agony as the minutes passed by like hours. I couldn’t remember most of the gifts that I’d received over the years, but the magic of the moment was still as fresh and pungent as the Douglas fir tree we would decorate every year. I don’t remember if I even asked for anything that first missionary Christmas (white shirts and cookies, maybe?) Mostly what I wanted was to just be with my family, to sit back and watch as my younger siblings delighted in what Santa had brought them.
One evening as my companion and I were talking about this special family, we had the idea to do a “Secret Santa” for them, complete with presents, food, maybe even a fully decorated Christmas tree. Within a day or two, and with the help of many willing Church members, we had gathered a variety of gifts, special treats, some food essentials, and a decked-out Christmas tree (no doubt grown in Oregon!) to boot. The best part of all was a Santa Claus suit someone had donated. With the help of our most well-fed missionary and his companion, neither of whom had ever met the family, we loaded up several mission cars and drove through the dark December night to Tim & Irma’s humble home.
Not wanting to be seen, my companion and I stood on each side of the porch as “Santa” and his elf assistant knocked on the door. As the family welcomed him and his elf into their home, all we could do was listen as Christmas happened inside. Although it has been almost forty years since this experience, I still have a vivid memory of that evening. Standing there in the dark, listening to the squeals of delight from the little girls, I felt something I’d never before experienced. This was Christmas. The real Christmas. This was why I was here, why I had left home and family to serve people I’d never met in a place I’d never before been to. An intense sweetness washed away any lingering doubt or feelings of homesickness. We drove quietly back to our little missionary apartment, the silence around us filled not with darkness but with the light of giving and receiving.
Merry Christmas! I hope this is a season of joy and peace for you. I’m so grateful for this opportunity I have to share my journey of faith with you. You inspire me to stretch myself as a writer and as a disciple of Jesus Christ. I love you.
How I love reading this, one of my favorite Christmas stories! Merry Christmas to you and Miss G and to all of your wonderful family!