--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Moody, Sarah B. collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 31 number: 7 published: 1928-05 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "Sarah B. Moody, “The Home Aspect of Missionary Work,” *Improvement Era* 31, no. 7 (May 1928): 590–593." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3107unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera3107unse start_page: 590 end_page: 593 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1928-05) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3107unse publication_year: 1928 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1928, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # The Home Aspect of Missionary Work The Home Aspect of Missionary Work By Sarah B. Moody When Fred Stewart received his mis- sion call, he wavered between conflicting duties: the dependence of his wife and children on one side, and his life-long de- sire to fill a mission on the other. Annie, his wife, took the initiative for once, "If the Lord wants you to fill a mission he will open the way." She began making plans — "I'll get a lot of chickens, raise and can fruit and vegetables, and, with our own pork, milk and butter, we'll get along. When fall comes, I'll take the teachers to board, and that will meet our other needs." "The farm is a poor asset in its unde- veloped condition, but, perhaps, John Wright will take it and furnish you with flour and chicken feed," Fred added; but, when the test came, he protested honestly against leaving her with so much hard work and responsibility. "It is not work, but stagnation, that kills. Don't you see, Fred, that this is my opportunity to get experience and self- reliance?" Fred went on his mission, and a year later, when the stake president asked Mrs. Stewart concerning her welfare, she an- swered: "I didn't know people were truly so kind, until Fred went away. A neighbor fixed my chicken houses and wouldn't charge a cent. Friends from all around brought me potatoes, beans, melons, stove wood, and there is simply no end to their kindness. I am saving money now to help replace the team and wagon when Fred gets home." 4< 4c ic Little Mrs. Norton was frail in health, and had barely escaped death when each of her four children was bom. When the last one was ten days old, her husband left for a mission to Australia. On the morning of his departure two Relief Society sisters hastened to her bed- side. There she lay calmly, propped upon pillows, with Church literature — pamph- lets and magazines — scattered over her bed. The sisters threw a defeated glance at each other and one of them said: "We have been wasting a lot of perfectly good sympathy on you." "Did you think I would be upset at Sam's leaving? Well, you s^e I have forti- fied myself against it," and her hand swept over the magazines. "I am reading all the missionary experiences I can find, and it is wonderful how the Father has taken care of our missionaries and their families." "Well, you are a brave woman. I won- dered at first, as I thought you didn't care." "Oh, I'm perfectly human, but I'm mak- ing a good fight. However, my predica- ment is nothing compared to that of our first missionary families. I have always wanted Sam to fill a mission, and, per- haps, this is the best time of our lives for him to leave. I am proud to have him represent our Church, and I scorn the thought of lying around pitying myself when so big things are at stake." « 4c * During that last week, Gladys and Del- bert had spent many hours making plans — she was to work as stenographer, while he filled a mission to the Eastern States; she would meet him, on his return, in Salt Lake City, where they would be married in the temple, then return home to Southern California. On their last evening together, they had each promised to be true and had parted tearfully. He left on his mission, but in six weeks was home again. Gladys gave him one measuring look and said: "Well, Dell, I'm surprised." He hung his head, "I thought, perhaps, you would be." "Why are you home?" "I was so darned homesick that I THE HOME ASPECT OF MISSIONARY WORK 591 couldn't stand it another day," and his voice trembled. "Well, you must go right back again. I could never endure a coward and a quit- ter; but come in, we'll talk it over." Four daysi later he left again, this time he remained for thirty months of devoted and successful missionary work. >t> 4t « Mrs. Lambert, the new teacher in the business college, was sent to Mrs. Edwards to find a laundress. "Sit down," invited Mrs. Edwards as she drew forth a wicker chair under a shade tree. They had a friendly visit, as country people do. Mrs. Lambert was surprised to find a washerwoman so well informed, and said something to that effect. "Oh, I am only washing to pay my son's missionary expenses. We will get on fine when he returns." "Doesn't the Church pay him a salary?" Mrs. Edwards never lost a chance to do missionary work, so she launched forth — "Oh, no. You don't understand. We believe that religion is more than a group of scientific principles combined with an ethical code. It must have the divine ele- ment in it. The Father and Son appeared to Joseph Smith, restored the gospel of Christ, and put into it the divine element which the apostasy had taken away. "Not mentioning our hope of a here- after, we believe that our gospel will do more to bring health, balance, prosperity and happiness here and now than any other creed ever devised. The Father desires that all of his children, the world over, shall share the blessings the gospel brings, and he has given us the responsibility of spreading these truths. You see, feeling as we do, we are glad to help without taking a sal- ary." "But where do you come in? The boy getsi the development and the pleasure while you do the drudging. It seems like the Church should at least support you both under the circumstances." "That would rob me of the privilege of helping. One doesn't take money for 9 labor of love. If I had half a dozen boys, I would gladly take in washings to send each one on a mission." "Well, surely there must be something in a religion that makes people feel like that." ♦ * ♦ It was a gray, drizzly February morning. Mrs. Murray, with a baby in her arms, and five other little children, ranging in ages to twelve, were huddled together on the platform of a country station, waving at a receding train that was taking Mr. Murray away to fill a mission in New Zealand. Each little face was grim and tearless, for mother had whispered, "Don't let Daddy, in his memory, see you in tears." When the train became a mere speck, the children all broke down at once, and kind friends hurried them home. The house seemed empty and desolate, and the winter wind moaned in sympathy. For a moment Mrs. Murray felt that she, too, must give up and join the weeping children — but no, she could not fail them. She uttered a brief, silent prayer, while she stirred the fire in the range. "Who wants to make candy with nuts and raisins in it?" she called out cheerily. They responded half heartedly, but, while the candy was cooking, she told them a story from Little Women — Mr. March had gone to war, and his four little girls had determined to be brave soldiers at home. Mrs. Murray lengthened and embellished the story, and her children quickly caught its spirit and application, and were cheered and heartened. Strangely enough, her efforts to comfort the children lightened her own heart, and gave her the assurance that, as she stood by her children, God watched over her. The first week seemed long, but, after that, time passed quickly, and soon they were getting long letters containing"pictures and stories of native boys and girls. A few troubles came along now and then. Mrs. Murray nursed the children through a heavy siege of measles. Five- year-old Bessie broke her arm, and carried it in a cast for six weeks. Baby Horace had a long spell of indigestion. And managing the five-acre lot, with two cows and a horse, brought its worries. 592 IMPROVEMENT ERA When Mrs. Murray asked her doctor to time passed quickly, and Mr. Murray was send in his bill, he said, "If Mr. Murray at home again, can afford to spend three years preaching * * ♦ the gospel, I can afford to doctor his fam- ily free of charge." -^^^ °^ these brave women will say that For three years the Murray family they were greatly blessed during these mis- worked, played and studied together, each sions. The wisest philosopher cannot dis- doing his part. Simple pleasures were pute it; for, who is so favored as she who planned, consisting of rides, walks and pic- accepts life as God wills it, opening her eyes nics. Birthdays and holidays were cele- to its beauties and its opportunities, laugh- brated with home parties, and nothing was ing and rejoicing in its pleasures, and dis- allowed to interfere with "Mother's story ciplining her heart to its rigors, knowing telling" at the twilight hour. Thus, the that God is over all? San Diego, California Message of a Missionary Take heart, ye who have not faith and are weary with life's load of sorrow; Who e'en now are stumbling, seeking for a hold, a firmer knowledge of that tomorrow Spoken of by Christ our Lord. Hear, now, my soul expression; let me speak and have my say. E'en though my mind has not yet ripened with the light of many years — I'm but a boy as to my time of life and da'y — Yet give heed, turn not your hearts away, For full oft the greatest lessons ever told Were uttered by the mouths of babes. Long have ye stumbled in error's gloomy way. As blind leaders of the blind, with their proud and learned minds, Have led their lesser fellows here below. Through countless sorrows, misery, and woe, To merge in discord and dismay. Finding at last that the future's draped in darkness deeper still, And life — a yesterday. You're faced by separation from that greater knowledge. As by a mightily walled hill. Towering to your vision's highest reach — Stranded at its base, by error's tide you lie. As driftwood on the beach you die. Too long have men built churches, called forth creeds, •■ Tried hard to formulate their theories so's to rise Above the weeds of error that have grown. Reaching upward to the very skies, I MESSAGE OF A MISSIONARY 593 Obliterating the expansive view of paradise. Which our prophets once possessed Co-eternal with our God and all the blest. Awake, ye mortals here below! He again has spoken, and the very trumps of Heaven blow. Arise and listen, will you hear? Time — 'tis but a phantom in its passing; We're no longer left to stumble, calling in life's ego; Seek Him now, the way is clear. Light's been given — knowledge — that all men might know The end of all our wanderings here below Is not a passage to a deeper, darker, less-known sphere; Then prepare yourselves while you are here. Make ready! For 'twill prove an opening to Celestial light, Giving power, through grace, faith, and might, Where advancement will unfold. Not in lines of worldly riches — Wealth — where men's minds arc ruled by gold, But in finer things of greater lasting beauty — God's Gifts Rife — Bearing fruits of joy eternal, and of life. O people, cease from strife and hear. For Immanuel's second advent now is near! Denver, Colorado EDWARD L. HANCOCK Memories of Mother I love the dear pictures — her smiles and her tears — That memory hangs on the walls of the years, Her glance of approval, her frown of rebuke Made soft by the love in the light of her look. That deep mother love, of all mothers a part. Rayed out like a dawn from the hearth of her heart, And, Oh, how they .blended, the human, divine. Expressed in that little big mother of mine. Her form was a record of service, her hair Was white with the snow from her winters of care. Experience, rough-hewn, added grace to her charm. And character lived in her face and her form. No hand can erase from my memory green That little gray cottage where mother was queen; In spite of the years that would rend us apart. She reigns, as of old, on the throne of my heart. Theodore E. Curtis