Viva Spain!

Seven years ago I was living in Madrid, Spain as a church missionary. I lived in Spain for 18 months, as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Yup, I was a Mormon missionary! This photo is of a reunion we recently had. We served with nearly two hundred others, but this was all that were able to be in town.

Quite a few memories and mixed emotions arose from this reunion. We were lucky to have a mission president who is fantastic. He held the reunion at his home this year. There are many misconceptions about Mormon missionaries that I always enjoyed clearing up. The boys serve for two years, the girls, for eighteen months. It is voluntary, and we have to pay for it out of pocket. I chose to go on a mission when I was nearing my 23rd birthday, and I wanted to go out and do my part.

One day on a commuter train in Madrid, we were confronted by a crabby man who was out for a fight. He saw me and my companion (we are assigned companions for various reasons, including safety and accountability) and stood right in front of us, blocking our way and used a great opener. "Oh, grrrreat. (all in Castellano) It's the MORMONS. All you people are brainwashed and worship Joseph Smith. Or, is that Satan?"
I was tired, it was a long day, and my companion was curious to see how I'd handle this. I decided to have a little fun.
"Oh, he's found out, " I said to my companion. "All us Mormon missionaries are controlled by a computer chip in our brains connected to a giant computer in Salt Lake City, Utah. In fact, a robot is telling me what to say." I look up at our antagonist and rolled my eyes. He stopped short and laughed a little.
"What did you just say?" he asked with dark humor in his voice.
"Another thing," I continued. (Just to let you know, I realized I could be physically accosted for my dancing on the fence of impropriety, but I didn't care at the moment.) "If we worshipped Joseph Smith, don't you think this name tag (gesturing to the name tag on my sweater) would say, 'The Church of Joseph Smith?' Look at it. We're Christians, really good ones, and I'm sick of being accused of a being in a cult. It's not. Get over it. Open your eyes."
"Well," he responded, "you guys all get forced like some army to leave your homes and force your religion on us."
"Who approached WHOM?" I quickly responded. I got hot under the collar, and wanted this to end. "I'll have you know I left my studies at a private university, on my own money and choice, to come out here and let people know that God loves them and Christ lives. I did this because of how it changed my life. I am happy, TRULY happy, and nothing you say to me will change how I feel about the Gospel of Jesus Christ."
Then came a mumble.
"You can see it in your eyes."
"Excuse me?" The response was so quiet I asked him to repeat himself.
"Your EYES. I can tell you are truly happy." He looked at me and gave me a smile, almost sad, and so brief.
That stopped me short. The train was nearing a stop, and he made for the exit. But, bolstering up his harsh exterior before leaving, he said loudly, "You Mormons have a very bad day."
"I hope you have a terrible day yourself." I loudly responded, trying to suppress a laugh. He walked off the train throwing a quick smile back at us, and then I heard a smattering of applause from the back of the train... a group of "jovenes" (teen 'riff-raff') had heard this whole exchange. One of them looked at me and said, "That was COOL."
Did I part the Red Sea? Duh, no. Move mountains? Never. But that day I knew that maybe my sarcastic side had the right effect on that man and those rowdy teens. You can be happy living right. You can have freedom and ultimate reward for living the Gospel and living it well.

My time in Spain is something I think about every day. No, I didn't go out and baptize a whole congregation singlehandedly, nor did I teach many gospel discussions. I did teach a lot of English classes, spoke with people from all over the world, and I kept a smile on my face in spite of the challenges. I had beer bottles thrown at me, I was spit upon twice, punched, and had rocks thrown at me. But every time these things happened, I knew I was walking an ancient path. Prophets and missionaries for two thousand years have faced a similar journey, and I had been presented a micro-understanding of what they had travailed. We know through the New Testament that even Paul made his journey into Spain. I love that country. It's fantastic. The people are remarkable and dignified. I would do it all over again, rock-throwing and all.

To anyone contemplating serving a church mission: do it. Do it, and know that you are walking in ancient footsteps laid before you by thousands who have gone before. I will never regret postponing my education for that experience. Granted, it took eight years to finish a five year bachelors, but it was worth it.

Looking at that picture of my friends from Spain, there are countless stories in that room. We all had life-altering experiences. Missions are hard, that's why they're called "missions," not "gap years," or "church activities abroad." I'm totally grateful I sucked up my pride and took the opportunity to be a missionary.