When Abe
left on his mission to Dallas, Texas, I felt strange thinking of all the experiences he would be having that we wouldn't share. After all, we had been together for nineteen years—not every
moment, of course, but even when he was away at scout camp or what-have-you, I knew basically what it would be like, I knew lots of the people he'd be with, and I knew I'd hear all about it about it afterwards. But a two-year mission would be different. It would be a
world I had no part in, except to the extent he told me about it, and he wouldn't be ABLE to truly tell me all about it—there would be too much that was just his alone.
I guess that's why I haven't written much about him while he's been gone. He has his own stories to tell now, and I don't feel like I'm the best teller of them anymore! You can read his letters if you want! They're collected here at
https://elderabenielson.blogspot.com/.
And yet…Abe's still part of our family's story too. And I do feel like I'm getting glimpses of what his life is like and who he's becoming—the bird's eye view, perhaps. I love talking to him every week (such a blessing! I don't know how mothers survived in the days before weekly phone calls!) and getting his letters. And I'm starting to think about him coming home. For so long now I haven't let myself think of it; it's felt too distant and too tender. But he's three-fourths of the way through now, on the "downward slope," as one of his companions hated people to say :), and you know how the start-of-school-to-Christmas season always plunges away headlong without a breath. Come January and he'll be home.
Abe's mission journey has been so interesting and so perfect for him! I could never have devised it myself, even knowing him as I do. It's another testimony of how the Lord cares for his missionaries. Abe started out in the countryside, near the Louisiana border, towns full of strange characters, where missionary work meant lots of "finding" but very little retaining. He biked and walked and talked to people everywhere, and had free time to play games at night with his companion, hours to talk on the phone on P-day, a laid-back view of goal-setting, lots of opinions on what it meant to be a good missionary, and lots of mentors helping him form those ideas. He watched hopefully for tornados, took pictures of sunsets and downpours, and decided he could love humidity.
Then he got transferred close to Dallas; rich areas, full of nice houses and nice cars, packed with members of the church who loved the missionaries and wards that hardly needed them. He worked with wonderful, solid leaders—went out with ward members for every single lesson—formed more opinions about fellowshipping and priorities. He hardly had to buy groceries—gratefully accepting the restaurant meals and the barbecue dinners and the twenty-dollar-bills from kind couples: "You boys get yourselves something good to eat!" He worked with people his own age in the singles ward, almost like he was just a young single adult himself, with friends, and game nights, and volleyball. He accepted leadership roles. Weathered meddling bishops and troubled elders. Started to see distinctions between charismatic missionaries—and good ones. Started to question a few things about the way things were done—not faithlessly, but thoughtfully, with a bit of skepticism toward what he'd accepted at first as "just the way things were." He developed a distaste for overused phrases and over-glib motivational tactics, with a growing certainty that the gospel was more than methods and numbers and reports.
I loved talking about these things with him—real questions, real struggles. How do you balance obedience and initiative? How do you distinguish impressiveness from effectiveness? What is the purpose of routine and what are its downsides? Abe's always been a thinker, but now he was thinking about things that went right to the heart of faith. When he wasn't taking pictures of BMW's and throwing cats out of trees, of course.
And then suddenly he got transferred again from these strong areas he'd loved and settled and blossomed in. Four hours away, to rural Arkansas and a tiny branch of 30 members, where he got the surprising and overwhelming call to be Branch President. And all at once those questions of leaders and leadership, those administrative constraints he was chafing under, have become his own burdens, his own choices to balance and grapple with. The push and pull between "real life" and "mission life" have to exist simultaneously for him as he tries to lead branch council, extend callings, hold interviews, give blessings—all while not letting up on the missionary work that could eventually find his replacement. It's not a role I ever envisioned him being in as a missionary, but I'm amazed at how good it is for him and how he's growing into it. I'm amazed at his willingness and fearlessness, even as I'm amazed that his branch can have the patience to sustain this inexperienced twenty-year-old called to lead them!
