Interludes and Inter-“missions”

 The story isn’t over for those who have followed the events and thoughts in “Along the Hong River” just as it isn’t for us in our renewed life along the Oklahoma River. It is now a full two years since we emptied the storage unit which held our earthly belongings, thinning again our possessions,  before reassembling the puzzle into the space of our home on Northwest 17th Street. A lot of the content of our daily activity is not terribly different than it was while we lived in Hanoi, while some things are decidedly different.

We still rise early (the 5:30 am alarm is mostly redundant since the biologic clock is quite firmly set it would seem) and engage in morning exercise and gospel study. We use that study period to seek guidance and revelatory ideas that will help us lift and serve those whom we may meet or connect with during that day and days ahead. My friend and missionary department proselyting guru David Weidman counseled me to inquire of the Lord each day as to which of our elders or sisters may need an emotional touch of some sort that day. More often than not, when I have done that, the resulting experience has been rich and tender. The lesson for me is that the endowment of love for our fellow missionaries, and for the saints and friends that came into our lives there, carries with it the responsibility and opportunity to continue to minister and grow with them.

It wasn’t very long after we had been home that I realized how treacherous the period of  life following a mission was for most returning missionaries. So many critical decisions were to be made, that would lock them into patterns and positions that would work powerfully for their good, or for ill. Selecting the right spouse seemed to me the most potent of these decisions. So for many months now, I have prayed and fasted for them in that regard, sometimes as a whole, and sometimes for particular ones. The readily obtained answers to these pleadings are beginning to accrue. This month, four new families were founded in the Holy Temples, and lives full of hope and anticipation have been launched together with able and worthy spouses. If the ultimate measure of our efforts is to be measured in the character and devotion of the grandchildren of those missionaries, then we have reason to hope for good inasmuch as so many have begun well, taking to heart the admonition to “do it right from the beginning.” We rejoice in their joy, and hope in their hope.

 

Similarly, as the number of offspring from these marriages begins to grow and these young fresh spirits make their entrance onto the stage of life, we feel great anticipation and excitement. Mission grandchildren, as we have come to refer to these offspring, are a big part of our joy as well. We only regret that limitations on time, resources, and the current travel restrictions have cut off direct contact with these joys, as well as our own biologic grandchildren. 

In another aspect of the heritage of these genealogies, we have the on-going opportunity to see many of the new converts and even former investigators of our time in Vietnam stepping forward to serve full-time missions. For many of these Pioneers, this is not a trivial decision, nor even entirely their own. Our dear friend L was baptized in 2017, the only member of her family, of course. As a young woman who had entered the workforce following school, her family’s next expectation was for her to marry and begin a family. But to make matters more complicated, a sibling was pursuing a career in the Public Security arm of the government. As is well known to all in that division, a primary responsibility is to oversee potentially seditious religious organizations, and therefore any officer with personal OR family connections to religious organizations is black-marked to not advance into increased duties. Hence that same sibling looked upon L as blocking their ability to move up in the security apparatus, and as the oldest child, he easily recruited both parents into opposing L’s participation, attendance, and support for the Church. 

But Wonder of Wonders, Miracle of Miracles, after much counsel, prayer, fasting, and gentle persuasion, God did make a wall fall down. What tremendous joy we felt when the text came from L detailing with ebullient joy that both parents had granted permission for L to serve a mission. To make matters even sweeter, we know a certain returned missionary who will be waiting for the completion of that service. So our fasting for L and L’s parents, also meant fasting for a future spouse of infinite worth and high commitment and faith. It was two for one!

And so the rivers flow and we shall both watch from the banks, and at times follow the currents.

Memorials and “Final” chapters

What we hope most to have accomplished in the few months we have lived, loved and wandered among the peoples of Vietnam is to have embodied in some way the example and teachings of Jesus Christ. Looking backwards as we now can on the paths we have taken in this journey, and more especially on the lives of the people we have met, loved and served, we see so many interesting stories, and so much of the sorrows, sadness and struggles of life, mixed wonderfully with moments of joy, happiness and fulfillment. As in Vietnamese cuisine, the sweet, spicy, salty, hot and savory, together with flavors and sensations not well described in English, come together to make a marvelous fusion of experiences that intensify and reinforce the feeling of satisfaction and fulness. So is life as a servant of God on a mission to bless his children. There are many flavors, textures and sensations that enrich us.

But unlike a meal which comes to a pleasing climax and resolves with a little “mouth decoration” as desserts here are termed, in a mission with real people and real lives, the course is often not finished and fulfilled by just one person. We are forced to put aside many books seemingly in mid-sentence, still hanging on what verb will dominate the remainder of the story and which object will be the consummation of the phrase. We know there are yet many chapters still to be written, twists and turns in plot and theme before the grand story is revealed and the Author’s mind and will are revealed.

We first met Brother Sharp two years ago on one of our first visits to the Mekong. We stayed in the village hotel, with it’s hard bed and the geckos prowling the walls for any insects that ventured in. We met him and his daughter at the head of the dirt path that lead in a kilometer or so to their home on the edge of the rice paddies. Flat and green, yet soured by a dry season that meant salt intrusion, those fields seemed in some ways a metaphor for their lives. He and members of his family had joined the church while living in Cambodia and had felt unity with the saints they met. They weren’t looking for “the true church” per se, but enjoyed the fellowship and accepted the doctrines. But when they moved back to Vietnam to resume work as the opportunities improved, they were far from the pleasures of that fellowship, and the dry ground invited other influences into their lives that soured the crop a bit.

So while they welcomed our visit, they had a different perspective on their spiritual needs at that time, and their affiliation with the larger international church didn’t seem essential to what they sought day to day. They prayed, they sang, they gathered together from time to time, security forces willing, and that was enough.

Our path took us back to their province 18 months later. Sudden losses had entered the family when a son-in-law had passed away suddenly, as though hit by lightening, and their daughter was now struggling to keep that arm of the  family going. As we shared their sorrows and thought about the blessings of being able to bear up the burdens placed on us, we invited them to consider whether temple worship might not offer them strength and comfort. Again we were warmly welcomed as friends, but understanding and hunger for the full plate of gospel blessings was still not evident. I had thought it unlikely following that visit that we would see them again. But circumstances can change.

While planning our trip for the Mission Branch conference this past weekend, word arrived that Brother Sharp had himself passed away and would be buried the following day. We couldn’t make the five hour trip for that, but determined to include a visit there in advance of the branch conference.

The last kilometer of the trip to the blue and white house was now paved in concrete, but the sun was still hot and much  of the path very exposed. The rice was again planted, now just showing sprouts for the first rainy season crop, the paddy partially flooded already from the first week of rain. We found the house, where now were two graves, one still in the final stages of construction, and the other completed but not fully adorned as a more prosperous setting might have required.

As we hugged, and held hands, shared faith and offered comfort a renewed sense of unity and a deeper desire seemed to arise in the hearts of not just the widow or her children, but also in the hearts and minds of their many friends to whom Bro Sharp had been the group minister, ex officio and pro tempore. “Will you come and bring us into the fold, we who have been cast out, and forbidden from meeting” by those in authority or of greater means, was the plea both spoken and implicit as we talked.

I had not ever dedicated a grave before, not in English, much less Vietnamese, but the blessing of comfort and hope from the ministering of authorized servants with priesthood keys, seemed clearly to have brought us there for that purpose, and through the accomplishment of that end, the beginning of a new chapter.

I have wondered how the spirit led early missionaries to Benbow farm where so many were waiting to receive the gospel and who became a vital infusion of strength and faith into the developing church. And I have wondered how missionaries found my ancestors living and working the farmland many, many miles from Stockholm or Uppsala. It is less a mystery to me now, as I see how farmboys from tiny villages in Nghe An become missionaries and then branch presidents, how the children of officers and magnates from distant towns and counties receive the gospel and rise up to bless their fellows and families as Zion is established. And I can see how the congregations of the faithful, through their prayers and entreaties, also bring the servants of God to their doors to minister, and comfort, and teach. It is only the beginning of course, and the many chapters and sequels yet to be written will no doubt be even more engaging and marvelous, but it is a tide of gathering, of refining, of building, that will not be turned back. And it will metaphorically turn the intrusion of salt that sterilizes the land into a salting of the earth that redeems and seasons the abundant harvest.

Wheat fields ready for harvest Simtuna, Sweden- Quê ngoại của tôi