From Michelle

Last Friday was Mike's and my day for the family fast. Maybe because I was thinking of Megan’s leaving the MTC soon for “The Mission Field,” but an experience I had early in my mission kept playing itself over and over in my head. Before I left for Brazil, a former sister missionary who had gone to a foreign country told me to prepare, because on my 2nd or 3rd day in the mission field, I'd have an emotional breakdown.
Understatement.

There I was: a brand new greenie missionary in Brazil. I'd lived on my own and been outside the country several times, so I didn't think I'd have any sort of "culture shock" or "homesickness." Everything completely caught me off guard. There were orphans living on the street and dogs with leprosy running around wild. My companion had only been out four or five months and barely spoke the language more than I. As I went to bed the first night, my companion oh-by-the-way’d me with the news that the previous occupant of the bed had a scourging case of head lice.

Fast forward to day number three on the mission...cue the breakdown. I remember walking down a street in Esteio, Rio Grande du Sul, Brazil. My companion was about 5 steps ahead of me. As I started crossing the street, I looked at my feet, which had a combined total of 28 blisters, and all of a sudden my eyes filled with tears. As I looked at my feet through my tears, I kid you not, they appeared to be the size of footballs, or maybe small torpedos. And then the weeping started and I couldn't stop. My poor companion had to half-walk, half-carry me back to what passed as our "house" but was really less livable than a van down by the river.

I could not stop crying. I cried for what I left behind. I cried because I was in pain. I cried because I felt overwhelmed with the task ahead of me. I cried because I couldn't understand anything anyone said to me. I cried because I didn't feel clean and knew I wouldn't get the dirt and grime off me until I went back to America. Most of all, I cried because I had never felt so alone in my entire life.

I can see in retrospect that all my tears were for myself. As President Hinckley counseled in a talk about his missionary experience, “Forget yourself and go to work.” I had to learn to do that with a fairly steep learning curve, given my environment. Those may have been the first mission tears I shed, but they certainly weren’t the last. As I grew as a missionary, my tears were less for myself and more for those around me. Or I cried because I felt so inadequate for the task set before me.

The story of the widow’s mite in Mark 12 has become particularly poignant to me as I look back on those days that were so difficult but filled with so much growth. The widow gave to the treasury two mites, which the scriptures say is worth a farthing. A farthing is 1/4th of a cent. It was so small, it was often overlooked and lost. The rich and the powerful never even used them because, in their eyes, it was so tiny and insignificant, both in terms of the amount it was worth and in its physical size. And yet, it was the widow’s mite that caught the Savior’s eye because of sacrifice it represented.

Oftentimes, I felt (and still feel) that the service I offer is inconsequential. I feel like my meager offering is filled with imperfection and inadequacies. It’s “just bearing my testimony” or “just smiling at someone in the street” or “just fasting for my family.” And yet, if it’s done with love in my heart, it’s in those moments that that I feel that my offering, however small and imperfect it may be, is still worth something to the Lord.

The day of my meltdown in Esteio is vividly imprinted on my mind. If I could go back to Brazil today, I could find the precise street where I stood and wept. I’m still working on the lessons from the mission: to learn how to love others, how to forget myself and serve, how to feel and recognize the Spirit. Those “widow’s mite” qualities may not be what the world values and talks about, but they will be recognized by the Savior. I was so blessed to be able to fast for my family and remember important lessons that still have an impact on me today.

From Emily Stacey

I completed my day for the Stacey family fast today. When we first heard about the fast and what the dates were going to be, the first thing that I thought was, "What a blessing. God will hear our prayers." You see, the fast began right when Steve was leaving for 12 weeks to do out rotations, interview for residency sites, and I would be spending the majority of that time alone with two kids. I was terrified and I really needed the extra help from the Lord.

It has been hard being alone, but there have been blessings. Right when Steve left, Ivan decided that was a good time to stop sleeping well at night. There were times when I was so exhausted that I just sat and cried in the middle of the night when he wouldn't go back to sleep. I didn't know how I would make it through the day without the hope of relief from another adult. Sometimes I felt sorry for myself, frustrated, impatient, angry and alone. I thought, "I didn't sign up for this! Who wants to be a single mom? I can't do this anymore!" But, there was always a little spot of hope in my heart. I always knew that I could say a prayer of hope and that things would get better. Of course there were days that were happy too; playgroups, park picnics, just playing outside on the swing set, building sand castles, playing Mickey Mouse etc. I think this strength came from the prayers and fasts of the family.

This is an important time of decisions in our life. Steve is interviewing for positions in a competitive specialty. There are times when we've both felt uncertain about how it will all turn out. But then peace comes to us; sometimes it's something that one of us says, or just a feeling that comes into our hearts and we are able to reassure one another that it will all work out the way that it's supposed to.

Thank you. All of you. For your prayers and your fasts. I only hope that my fast (even though I had to drink water as I am breastfeeding), will give you the strength, hope and faith that you need in your lives.

Love,
Emily Stacey