The LDS Missionary (Extended Edition)

This is a poem that I wrote in the Spring of 2007 for an assignment in my Creative Writing Poetry class that I was taking. At the time, my older brother was serving his mission and was coming home that summer. For those of you who don't already know, my family is LDS or Mormon. When I first wrote this poem, I didn't really understand the whole concept of serving a mission, but I tried my best to capture the whole experience. It wasn't until this last summer when I was going through some of my old college English assignments that I had saved that I came across it again. The original version of this poem in my opinion lacked the ability to flow and to truly communicate what I wanted to say, but since it was an assignment, I didn't have as much time to work on it as I would have liked. When I came across it last summer, I read it, and decided that I needed to work on it. The reason that I worked on it and tweaked it as much as I did was because since the beginning of 2012, I have been attending that missionary preparation class and I have come to a better understanding of just how important missionary service truly is. I have posted what I have started to refer as the "Extended Edition" of the poem. In my next post, I will post the original version so that you can see where the poem began and where it is now. This poem is truly a work in progress since I am preparing to serve a mission myself which is the reason for my attending the missionary preparation class. At the time that I wrote this, I had been given the assignment in my Creative Writing Poetry class to write a ballad. A ballad for those of you who are unfamiliar with the term is basically a poem containing several stanzas of four lines each that is written with either the rhyme scheme of "a, b, a, b" or "a, b, c, b." Ballads often tell a story and can be written in iambic pentameter. Feel free to leave any thoughts or comments that you might have.

ENJOY!

Amanda




The LDS Missionary (Extended Edition)
--Amanda Best
For my brother, returned missionary, Robert M. Best, and for all the missionaries, who have in one way or another made me look at life and serving a mission with a whole new perspective.

You're called to be a missionary;
You're called to serve the Lord.
You're called to a place unknown;
You're called to preach His word.

Last Friday you finished your papers;
Then submitted them on Saturday.
Hoping your call would be waiting;
At home after church on Sunday.

Speeding home to check the mail;
You parked your car in the flower bed
But when the mailbox came up empty;
You just stood there scratching you head.

Twelve tortuous days of waiting later;
Your sister called to tell you that it came.
And when you opened your call;
You butchered your mission’s name.

Grabbing your family’s world atlas;
While turning fifty shades of red.
Embarrassed as you held your breath;
Hoping it wasn’t a place you’d dread.

Finding you mission on the map;
You suddenly felt relieved.
Southern Mexico;
How could you be so naïve?

Over the next few weeks;
You packed, stuffed, and crammed,
Your suitcases with so many items,
That the zippers kept getting jammed.

The night before you entered the MTC;
Your thoughts began to race.
Could you really do this;
Or would you fall flat on your face?

Pushing your doubt from your mind;
You said a humble, earnest prayer.
Asking that you receive the strength;
And the compassion to truly care.

Two months later you boarded a plane;
Not knowing what was to come.
Ten hours and three planes later;
Your legs were completely numb.

In the terminal stood five men;
In white shirts, ties, and black tags.
Greeting you with warmth and love;
They helped you carry all your bags.

You arrived with brand new scriptures;
Shirts, ties, shoes, and two tailored suits.
But tucked in the back of your closet;
You left your well-worn combat boots.

And just like when you were in Seminary;
You arose early every day.
Then before you went to bed each night;
You knelt beside your bed to pray.

As the days turned into weeks;
You brought hope to those in need.
And showed care and concern;
By helping others to succeed.

On P-days you’d write home;
Asking for pictures and perhaps a letter.
But packages with peanut butter;
Were a hundred million times better.

As the weeks turned into months;
You continued to press on.
A valiant soldier in “God’s Army;”
Brave, faithful, true, bold, forever strong.

Tending to the Savior's Vineyard;
Pruning, watering, and removing weeds.
As the watchman on the tower;
Protecting, nurturing faith's tiny seeds

Soon without you realizing it;
One full year had come to pass.
And you heard what all the others had said;
That year number two goes by way too fast.

As time continued to go by;
You cherished each memory you would gain.
Filling all your days with joy and service;
Even in the pouring rain.

Before you even knew it;
Your final days drew near.
Not wanting to leave this place;
For a place that’s a world away from here.

Your last night you got no sleep;
All you did was toss and turn.
Giving up and staring at the ceiling;
Wondering how you'll cope when you return.

You gave away everything you brought;
Except your scriptures, shirts, and suits.
And your dress shoes became;
A different kind of combat boots.

Once a naïve, selfish boy of nineteen;
Now a wise, unselfish man of twenty-one.
You’re sad that it’s all over;
You’re sad this day has come.

You’ve come to love the people;
And the local culture too.
You never thought that leaving;
Would be the hardest thing to do.

Your old friends and former life;
The things of this world seem obsolete.
To your testimony of the truth;
Now cemented in concrete.

Once called to be a missionary;
Once called to serve the Lord.
Once called to a place unknown;
Once called to preach His word.