What I’ve Seen and Heard: A Testimony of Patience and Presence

After Lehi saw a vision of Jerusalem’s destruction, the scriptures say that he “began to prophesy and to declare unto them concerning the things which he had both seen and heard.”

I love that phrase–seen and heard. Because isn’t that what the Lord invites each of us to do? To open our mouths and share the things we’ve seen Him do in our lives, and the things we’ve heard through the whisperings of the Spirit?

Towards the end of my mission, all of the missionaries were asked to write a one page testimony on the topic: “How the Book of Mormon has helped me?” We were told to bring it to zone conference the following week.

When the day came, every missionary walked in with their written testimony in hand. As the meeting progressed, the Area Seventy who was there asked for a few volunteers to get up and read theirs in front of everyone. One Elder was brave enough to raise his hand.

The Area Seventy invited him up to the stand to read. The Elder began, “When I was in Primary…”

But before he could continue, the Area Seventy gently stopped him and asked, “What is Primary?”

The Elder gave a short answer, and then continued. A few moments later, the Area Seventy interrupted again, asking for clarification–what does that word mean? What does that feel like?

This continued, gently but persistently, until the Elder finished reading. Then the Area Seventy looked out over the room and asked, “What does salt taste like?” Perplexed–and a little uncomfortable after what we had just witnessed–everyone sat in silence.

He continued, “Explaining salt isn’t so easy, is it? You can try to describe it, but in the end, you might as well just hand someone a grain and say, ‘Here. Try it.’ Your testimony is the same. You can’t fully convey the feelings you had, the moment you felt them, or even the pain you were in at the time. But you can help someone experience their own moment.” (Holding up my letter) This is my simple one-page testimony from that day. Nothing fancy. Just my first attempt to put into words what I had seen, heard, and felt. I’m not going to read this letter today, because I’d like another try. I want to speak from where I am now, and I want to begin with this:

In the MTC, one sister decided that I was going to be her punching bag. She relentlessly teased me. Now, if you know me; I can take a joke. I tease people too, and at first, I was okay with it. But over time, it started to wear on me. One day, she broke a small gift that had been given to me by another missionary’s parents. And for some reason, that moment hit harder than I expected.

On top of that, it seemed like every other missionary in my district had a clear reason for being there. And I didn’t. I didn’t know why I was on a mission. I didn’t have some dramatic conversion story or powerful spiritual prompting. I just knew I was there… and I didn’t know what for.

So one Sunday afternoon, with everything building up, I decided to ask God: “Why am I here?” Instead of giving me a clear-cut answer, He showed me three moments, where I helped a few of my friends. And then he told me two words. “Be patient.”

Fast forward a few weeks and I was in the mission field. In England, Covid was still a very real thing. We were locked down, and the only thing we could really do was send people messages. And I was not having it. I felt like a bot–just typing out lines, hoping someone would respond. There was no connection. No feeling. Just repetition.

On top of that, my companion had this way of subtly forcing me to keep going. He’d sit on the piano bench so I couldn’t play, or he’d say we couldn’t eat dinner until we sent a certain number of messages. Eventually–without telling me–he set up a call with the mission president. I was done. When I got on the call, I told my mission president how I felt. How robotic it all seemed. How drained and unseen I was. But instead of comforting me, or trying to understand, he just… talked at me. At that moment, I felt more invisible than ever. In my mind, he didn’t care about me.

That night, I laid in bed–completely heartbroken. I was five thousand miles away from my family. I didn’t get along with my companion. I felt like my mission president didn’t care about me. And the worst part? There was nothing I could do to escape it. So… what did I do? I bottled it all up. Every week, I told my parents, “Things are great!” And every week, they unknowingly gave me something new to grieve: “My coworker died last week.” “You remember so-and-so? They passed away too.” And then… week seven. My mom said, “So… Uncle Drew died yesterday morning.”

After I hung up the phone with my parents, I just sat there. A half hour passed. And then I knelt down and asked God, “Why?” In reply, He simply said: “Be patient.” And somehow, those two words were all I needed. Because at that moment, I remembered—He had me. From that point until now, I’ve seen it over and over again: Moments where I was in the right place at the right time. People who came into my life and helped shape who I’ve become. And experiences that reminded me that God never left.

I want to testify of this: God sees you. He knows where you are. He knows what you’re carrying. And He is not far. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.