Editorial
Soda, Socks, and the Spirit
My spot in the house: standing at the kitchen counter. It’s where I’ve worn out the ground more than anywhere else in the house. It’s where my children will remember me standing as they retell their childhood tales to their children. This spot in the house helps define me, whether I’m making food, signing school notes, making plans, talking on the phone, dishing out orders, whatever; I seem to gravitate to that spot. It’s a place I fit.
And so, as I think about this issue of Segullah and look over all the great writings we’ve received about missionary work, it occurs to me that I don’t think I’ve ever been a tool of conversion for anyone. It’s a world where I’ve never felt I fit. I've never served a full-time mission. I’ve lived most of my adult life in Utah (Utah County, even). All my neighbors are faithful members; miraculously, no one in my extended family has left the Church; and I’ve been at home raising children for almost the last decade. Okay, okay, now is the time to stop yelling at me about all the missionary work I’m doing in my own home. Of course it has occurred to me that I’m converting children while scrambling eggs and folding towels. But to be honest, as I think about “my spot” in the house, all those moments feel like—well—scrambling eggs and folding towels.
I know, on an academic level, that I am doing more than just what appears on the surface. My work is like putting root beer in a cup that already has ice cream in it. The Lord has provided me with the ingredients I need. If I combine them skillfully, I can anticipate a delicious reward. But if I pour too quickly or carelessly, the root beer will just bubble over and nothing will stay in the cup. So here I am, pouring the gospel slowly over my children, wondering how much of it will stay in, how much will run out. Somehow, I know I’m making a wonderful, sweet (maybe sticky and gooey) delight. Somewhere in the midst of every normal, regular day, there are little pieces of me staying with my kids. Missionary work, right? Tending the flocks, raising a righteous generation, right?
So why does this “spot” where I fit seem so removed from "real" missionary work? Maybe it's because this mission requires me to clock in at the kitchen counter each morning for the next twenty years, ready to scramble eggs and fold towels with the Spirit. Seriously daunting work. Inviting the Spirit to a sock matching event somehow just doesn’t seem quite as exciting as teaching the discussions or inviting an investigator to be baptized. And yet, the kind of love and commitment that my mission requires are the same qualities that make missionaries in any setting successful.
Reading through our spring issue has reminded me that this topic is not mine alone to ponder. I've discovered other women struggling with the same feelings of doubt and inadequacy in very different settings, and I've shared in their search for the strength and perseverance to bring love and inspiration to our respective arenas of missionary work. One of the miracles of each issue we publish is to see so many different stories arc together to become a compelling composite of how women see the world. In that arc I see many different parts of the same whole.
“Missionary work is amazing.”
“It’s uplifting.”
“It’s intricate and complicated.”
“I wish I could be more effective.”
“It’s harder than anything I’ve ever done.”
”Missionary work is humbling.”
All the sentiments we find in this issue, written from so many different perspectives, can also be found inside me, just one person. And that makes me realize that maybe I fit here after all.
So sit down at the kitchen counter, or at your spot in the house, and enjoy each story. Find the place that you fit and dig in. We hope you enjoy these as much as we have.
Justine is associate editor of Segullah.
