by Jack Weyland
“He does?”
“I don’t know why, but the impression came as clearly as anything I’ve ever received.”
“Thank you for telling me that, President.”
Over the next few days, Austin made up the backlog of requests for books left over by Elder Nichols, who had apparently used the position as an excuse to do as little as possible while waiting to go home.
While Austin waited for the postman to come, he went in the commissary and closed the door. He sat on the stool and closed his eyes. Father in Heaven, Sister Dulles ordered a copy of the Book of Mormon in Spanish. In her letter she said for me to send it right away. I’m sending it priority mail so she should get it either tomorrow or the next day. I hope that whoever it’s going to, it will do some good.
Father in Heaven, I have to know something. I’m not sure if I should even ask it. It’s just that I know now that I’m not going to be some great leader in the mission, and so far I haven’t had a lot of baptisms, so there’s not much to brag about to Jeremy or my folks. But if I could just know that you approve of my service here, that would be plenty enough for me.
He felt a wave of warmth flood over him, a feeling he associated with the influence of the Spirit. He closed his eyes and surrendered to his tears, basking in the feeling of knowing that the Lord loved him.
Thank you, Father, that’s all I needed to know.
* * * * *
Austin bought two get-well cards at the store, but because he didn’t know Emily’s exact address, he sent the cards to Jeremy and asked him to forward them to her.
On Monday afternoon of the next week, President Merrill and Elder Hastings and his companion, Elder Hathaway, left for another round of zone conferences. Once they were gone, the backbiting against Elder Hastings picked up again among the office elders.
Austin retreated further into his own work, expanding his duties to include developing software that could be used to help President Merrill plan transfers. He spent most of each day at the computer, developing and testing the software. At lunch he retreated to the commissary and ate by himself while he filled out the orders that had come in the morning mail or read the scriptures. He knew he was being a recluse, but he hated listening to the jokes about Elder Hastings and the other small talk that went on. The only contact he had with his companion, Elder Lambert, was in companion study early in the morning and when they went out in the evenings to do contacting and teach the discussions.
By the end of the week he was sure that the software he’d developed was easy to use and might help President Merrill try various options as he considered possible transfers.
He had also discovered something from reading the Book of Mormon—something he had never seen before. He was excited about it but didn’t share the insight he’d had; the office elders didn’t seem all that interested in scriptural insights.
On Monday night, the mission assistants and President Merrill returned from a zone conference. The next morning, during an office prayer meeting, Elder Hastings gave a report.
“Things are really going forward there. Most of the missionaries are using a daily planner I presented to them last time. It helps them focus on what’s most important. The number of baptisms also jumped nine percent this month. It just shows what can happen when you plan your work and work your plan.”
Austin glanced at two of the office elders. They had an unmistakable smirk on their faces.
He studied President Merrill. He must know that the baptisms last month didn’t depend on the planner Hastings made up. So why does he let Hastings carry on the way he does all the time?
Every morning under President Merrill’s direction, the office staff had a morning devotional, consisting of a song, a prayer, a spiritual thought, and an outline of the day’s activities, led by Elder Hastings.
Austin was asked to give the spiritual thought. He asked everyone to turn to Mormon, Chapter 8. He read to them part of verse 5: “For I am alone. My father hath been slain in battle, and all my kinsfolk, and I have not friends nor whither to go; and how long the Lord will suffer that I may live I know not.”
“That was written in a.d. 401,” Austin said. “Moroni was still alive in a.d. 421. So it appears he might have spent twenty years alone, without friends or family.”
Elder Hastings glanced at his watch, then began to tap his fingers on the president’s desk. “That was real good,” he said, anxious to get on to something more important.
“I’m not done yet,” Austin said.
“Oh, sorry.”
The office elders smirked at each other.
“Now I’d like you to turn to Ether, chapter 12,” Austin said. “You’re probably familiar with this. This is where Moroni tells the Lord he’s afraid the Gentiles will mock his words. The Lord tells him that it’s going to be all right. What I want to do is to read Moroni’s response to the Lord. That starts in verse 29 and goes through verse 36. Elder Hastings, would you do me a favor and time me while I read?”
“Sure. I have a stopwatch feature on my watch, so that’ll be no problem.”
“Thanks.” Austin read the verses at the pace he thought Moroni might have spoken them. When he finished, he said, “Stop. How much time was that, Elder Hastings?”
“One minute, forty-three seconds.”
“Almost two minutes then?”
“Yes, that’s right. Well, that was really good! Thanks for sharing. Now let’s get to work.”
“I’m still not done,” Austin said.
Elder Hastings rolled his eyes, then catching President Merrill’s stern gaze, he relented. “Okay, go ahead.”
“Do you see what is happening here?” Austin asked.
Nobody said anything.
“I do,” President Merrill said softly.
“I knew you would.”
“Elder Hastings, do you know?” President Merrill asked.
“No, not really.”
President Merrill asked each of the office staff in turn. Some of them hadn’t been paying that much attention. Others had been watching for Elder Hastings to say something they could later make fun of.
A few silent moments passed.
“Tell them,” President Merrill said to Austin.
“Moroni has no friends, no family, nobody to talk to. The Savior knows that Moroni could use a friend to talk to, and so he listens for nearly two minutes. That’s how considerate the Savior is, how sympathetic to our needs. Do you know anywhere else where the Savior appears to someone and just listens? Usually, he comes, gives his message, and then leaves. But he didn’t do that with Moroni—maybe because he knew Moroni was lonely.”
With his voice catching and tears burning his eyes, Austin said, “Jesus Christ is gracious and kind. He honors those who do their best to serve him. I know that now more than I’ve ever known it before.”
“Thank you for that marvelous spiritual thought,” President Merrill said.
A short time later they went to work.
* * * * *
During the lunch hour, Elder Hastings came to the commissary.
“Can I get you anything?” Austin asked.
“No, not really.”
Hastings was silent for a few moments, then he said, “That was a really good spiritual thought you gave today.”
“Thanks.”
“I was wondering if you’d mind if I used it for our next zone conferences.”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“Are you sure? You might need it sometime.”
“I read the scriptures every day. There’s always something new to discover.”
“I read them every day, too, but I don’t get as much out of ’em as you seem to do.”
“Maybe it’s because you’re in a hurry all the time.”
“That’s probably it, all right.” Elder Hastings nodded his head. He seemed to be on his way out, but then he stopped. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure, what is it?”
“You don’t have to answer it if you don�
��t want to.”
“All right, what’s the question?”
“Do people make fun of me?”
Austin didn’t know what to say. “Why would you even ask a question like that? You’ve had more success than anyone else in the mission. You led the mission in baptisms for, what, seven consecutive months? Every time you’ve gone into an area or a district as a leader, there’s always been a jump in baptisms. So why would you even care what a few slackers say about you behind your back?”
“It is happening then, isn’t it?” Elder Hastings said.
Austin turned to his work. “I really don’t want to talk about this.”
“C’mon, Elder, we came out together. I know people are making fun of me. I can see it in their eyes. Please, help me.” Austin had never seen Hastings look vulnerable before.
“All right, some people do make fun of you, but it’s mostly here in the office.”
“What do I need to change about myself?”
“You can’t be serious. Why change? There’s nobody in this mission who’s even come close to what you’ve accomplished.”
“No matter how well I’m doing, I always want to do better.”
Austin had never admitted to anyone besides President Merrill the sense of failure he had about his mission. “I can relate to that.”
“Maybe we could help each other.”
“You don’t need any help,” Austin said.
“I can do better if you’ll help me. What kind of help do you need?”
“I’ve been out here over a year and I’ve never had even one baptism,” Austin confessed.
“Let’s work together then, okay?”
“Okay,” Austin said.
On the days when Elder Hastings was in town, he arranged it with the president so he and Austin could trade companions and work together. At first, because they didn’t have anybody to teach, they went to libraries and fast-food places and tried to strike up conversations with people. Elder Hastings was a natural at getting people to talk to him. He was amazing to watch.
After a few days, when they hadn’t had much luck, they switched to visiting members, asking them to commit to finding someone to teach. They met with a young married couple, John and Cassie Walters, who were managing her dad’s trailer park.
“But we don’t know anybody who’s interested,” John said.
“That doesn’t matter,” Elder Hastings said, smiling confidently. “Just set the date, and the Lord will send someone to you.”
“He will?” Cassie asked.
“Sure, why not? He wants people in the Church more than we do. He’ll send someone to you who’s ready to be taught. I guarantee it.”
In the car on the way back to the mission office, Austin said, “How can you guarantee something like that?”
“Why not? We want to baptize. Heavenly Father wants us to baptize. So why wouldn’t he send someone for us to teach?”
Chapter 10
“It’s just that I wouldn’t have guaranteed them this was going to work on their first try.”
“With all due respect, Elder, what’s that gotten you so far?”
After a painful pause, Austin said softly, “No baptisms.”
“That’s right, no baptisms. Well, we’re about to change that.”
In some ways, Austin secretly hoped it wouldn’t work, and that John and Cassie wouldn’t find anyone.
But two weeks later, an old high school friend stopped by to visit John and Cassie. John asked him to take the missionary discussions, and he agreed.
Three weeks later he was baptized.
The morning after the baptism, Austin and Hastings went to McDonald’s for a late breakfast to celebrate. Hastings and his companion were leaving after lunch to travel with President Merrill.
“Well, now you know how it’s done,” Hastings said.
“Yeah, I do. Thanks a lot.”
“No problem. Now it’s your turn to help me.”
“It’s like I said before, you don’t need any help.”
“What do the office elders think about me?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask them?”
“You said you’d help me. So do it. Tell me what I need to change.”
Austin fiddled with his drink cup. “I’m not sure I can do this.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because . . . well . . . we’re friends now.”
“That’s why you should tell me. I mean, if there’s something I’m doing that turns people off, then I’d like to know what it is.”
Austin took a deep breath before replying. “Well, whenever you give a talk to the elders, it comes across, like, ‘Look at what I’ve done! Aren’t I great? Why can’t you all be like me?’ You don’t have to do that. Everyone knows who you are and what you’ve accomplished.”
Austin wasn’t sure how Hastings would take it–-if he’d get defensive or try to argue his case, or else get mad at him.
“Part of my responsibilities as mission assistant is to motivate others to have success.”
“I know.”
“So how can I do it without appearing arrogant?”
Austin shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I just run the commissary.”
“What would you do if you were mission assistant?”
Austin laughed. “Check to see if President Merrill had lost his mind.”
“I’m serious.”
While he thought, Austin placed their empty wrappers and boxes on the tray. “I’d talk about the Savior. He’s the reason we’re here. What he did and what he’s revealed is what were supposed to be teaching. That’s what I’d do—talk about the Savior.”
“Every talk?”
“Every talk. Every training session. Every meeting. Always, every day.”
Hastings nodded his head. “I’ll try it and see how it works.”
“Okay.”
“Let’s go.”
On the drive to the mission office, Hastings looked over at Austin. “How about if we set a goal to baptize every month while we’re in the office? You with your companion and me with mine?”
“Sounds good.”
“We’ll do it then . . .” Hastings paused. “That is, with the Lord’s help, we will.”
Austin smiled. He had never been so happy since he’d been on his mission.
* * * * *
A month later Austin was transferred out of the mission office to work with Vietnamese families again. A missionary was going home and wasn’t being replaced, and Austin was the only elder in the mission who had any experience teaching in Vietnamese.
Austin was leaving behind a family of three who were on the fourth discussion and had committed to be baptized. Hastings said he’d take good care of them.
It’s all right, I guess, Austin thought on the bus heading to his new area. The president had no choice. Besides, I’m here to serve in any way the Lord wants.
That’s one lesson I’ve learned out here.
* * * * *
It wasn’t easy, but Emily made it through her first day of classes.
One of the hardest things was enduring the stares she got wherever she went. It seemed as though everyone she passed looked at her. Her compression suit, with its hood, did look a little bit like a costume, and in a way she couldn’t blame people for wondering why she was dressed like that. Still, it was hard not to feel self-conscious and something of a spectacle. She avoided making eye contact with people, but she could tell that they were staring at her.
She’d rented a locker so she wouldn’t have to haul all her books in a backpack, and during the day she stopped twice by her locker to drop off books and grab some others. Then, after her last class, she decided to go home to rest.
When she got to her apartment, she was glad to find none of her roommates there. She closed the door to her room and lay down on the bed to take a nap.
At about four-thirty, she woke to the sound of voices in the living room.
“I can’t beli
eve we’re stuck living with someone like her. She’s going to scare all the guys off,” one of the girls said.
“I hope she’s not expecting us to be her nursemaid twenty-four hours a day,” another said.
“Why did she even come here anyway?” another asked. “If I looked like that, I can’t imagine I’d want to show my face in public.”
“The point is that she’s here, and she needs us. I don’t mind helping her.”
“Fine, then, go ahead and help her, if that’s what you want, but I have better things to do than tend some freak.”
Emily held the hurt in. She didn’t want to embarrass her roommates by letting them know she’d heard them, so she stayed in her room, ready to pretend to be sleeping if anyone came in.
In some ways she didn’t blame them and could understand why they’d feel that way about her. She felt like a freak. But it hurt to have them talking that way about her hurt.
She heard someone at the bedroom door but kept her eyes closed.
Then the door was quietly pulled shut. “She’s here,” someone hissed.
“Was she listening to us?”
“No, she’s asleep.”
“We’ll have to be careful what we say around her.”
Half an hour later Emily got up and left the apartment without saying anything to her roommates.
She went to the library to study, but it was hard to focus on what she needed to do. She thought about what the girls in the apartment had said. She didn’t want to blame them for feeling the way they did; she just wished they understood what it was like for her to feel like an outcast.
She’d had a taste of that kind of misunderstanding before. While shopping in the mall at home, Emily had noticed a little girl staring at her. The child couldn’t have been older than three, and Emily smiled at her and wiggled her fingers in greeting. Noticing Emily, the girl’s mother quickly reached for her child.
“Come away,” the mother had said, snatching her daughter’s hand and quickly walking out of the store.
I didn’t mind the little girl looking at me, Emily thought. She’d probably never seen anyone like me before. But I don’t understand why the mother didn’t bring the girl over. I would have gladly explained what had happened to me.
There had been other times when she had been embarrassed by people’s reaction to her appearance. Once, a day or two after Emily had come home from the hospital, a group of girls from her ward dropped by her house. They were members of the Mia Maid class, and they had baked some cookies for Emily. They arrived at a time when Emily was out of her compression suit, applying ointment to the areas that had been burned.
