Something I am beginning to appreciate more as I age: you just never know what kind of impact you will have on a life.
Sometimes, an impact can be seen instantaneously. That's a nice feeling. Like when Glo texts me and asks me to pick her up after school because she's so tired. And on the way home, she falls asleep in the seat next to me. I know right away that I did a good thing.
Most of the time though, I find that you won't know what kind of impact you've made until a while later, or perhaps never. However, that doesn't negate the good you've done. After all, we shouldn't be serving in order to be seen. We should be serving in order to bring ourselves closer to our Savior.
I had heard of miraculous stories from the service of missionary children. Stories where a non-member family member joins the church while their child, or niece, or parents are serving a mission. Miracles of health where a father's health is prolonged just long enough so that he can see his returning missionary son before he dies. Miracles even of missionaries themselves, becoming converted to the gospel while on their mission.
John and I were occasionally asked by people what miracles we had seen in our lives while our boys were serving missions. I have blogged about this before. In reality, my life became much harder when my boys left for missions. Those blessings of health didn't fall upon my head, but instead, blessings of illness and broken bones filled the four combined years they were gone. John's constant struggles with finances, and the stresses of his job weren't lessened. We wondered why we seemed to be exempt from the blessings so many others received.
On Christmas Eve this year, someone suggested that we read from our Advent book. It's a large green binder that my Young Women's presidency created years ago in Bitburg. We've read the stories multiple times, and we all have our favorites. To my surprise, both Ethan and Mark chose a different set of books from which to pick their favorite stories.
While I was embarrassed to admit it at the time, I wrote the boys every day on their missions. Yes, every day. It was an all-consuming affair for four years, making sure that there was a letter or a package going out to them daily. It wasn't easy financially either; it costs over one dollar to send one letter to either Poland or Russia, and packages were easily over $100 to send. Ethan's letters arrived within a week, and sometimes within three or four days. It was great, knowing I could ask him some pressing question, and he could answer it in his next weekly email. It was hard though to stay motivated to write Mark, because his letters weren't sent directly to his apartment, and took over a month to just arrive in Russia (plus the time to actually get him his mail). By the time he replied to anything, I honestly couldn't remember what I had asked him!
I didn't realize it at the time, but writing my boys was a blessing in my life. As is the way with most types of service, we think we are blessing the life of another person, but in reality the blessings in our own lives that come from our service is so much greater. I can't think of another time in my life where I have had to make a conscious effort to serve someone on a daily basis for over four years.
One of the best ideas I had in those four years was to create an Advent book for the boys to read throughout December leading up to Christmas. One story a day. But instead of just copying the tried-and-true stories from our favorite green binder, I decided it would be nice to collect stories from friends and family who knew the boys, but who might not be corresponding with them on a regular basis.
It was a Herculean effort. I had to collect them early enough that I could type them up, get them to the printer, and get them to the boys before December 1. I was quickly reminded that not many people like to write as much as I do, and I was a bit disappointed when a couple of folks would send in some trite Christmas poem. However, for the most part, they were completely delightful. Not only did I send a copy to the boy currently serving a mission, but I gave copies to all the people who had contributed stories that year, and naturally kept a copy for myself.
Funny thing? I didn't hear much back from the boys about them at all. In fact, I remember it was hard to feel like I should even make a copy for the fourth Christmas (Mark's last one in Russia). However, John encouraged me to do it, mostly I think because he wanted to have a new book too :-)
Fast forward to Christmas, 2015. Like I said, the boys didn't reach for the green binder, but to my utter surprise, they reached for the Advent books from their missions. We began thumbing through them, looking for our favorite laugh, or a story that might have been pulled from the green binder. We read them, and it was a nice time.
And then it was Ethan's turn.
I wish I could replay my memory from that night, because I almost feel like words won't describe the feelings or the story that was shared.
Ethan could hardly speak without crying, and for anyone who knows Ethan, that is saying something. I do believe he's cried three times in his life: when he read that Gandalf died in LOTR, when Dodge died, and when Mark's surprise video was played at his and Rebecca's wedding.
And to my surprise, when Mark walked in late (from a last-minute shopping run) and knew nothing of what had already transpired, he too reached for the books and had the exact same experience.
Both of the boys shared tender, almost sacred memories of how these books had been lifelines for them during very difficult times on their missions. Times when they felt alone, and when they wondered if God even remembered them. For Ethan, it was just the moment each day of having a piece of home in his life. Whether he sat down first thing in the morning and read the story of the day while eating his cereal, or he was meeting up with other missionaries to read together, the stories were stories of love from people who cared about him. In simpler terms, they were a light.
In fact, as we were listening to Ethan and talking about things, he sent off a text to one of the elders who was serving with him at the time, Elder Kryzminski. Here was his reply:
For Mark, it was a specific story, "The Parable of the Dogs", that helped him through a very dark time in Pushkin. As he read the story, a sacrament meeting talk that I had given just months earlier, not only did he get emotional but so did I. It almost felt like scripture as he read it, as it dawned on me that the suffering I had experienced since my boys had left on missions was actually the refiner's fire, making me a stronger, more resilient person. Like Mark expressed himself, I wasn't left alone by the Lord, but instead was being given experiences to remind me how MUCH the Lord loves me.
Again, words can't really express the feelings at the moment, but the feeling in the room was very much the same as other sacred experiences I've had. The Spirit was so strong, and so pure, that I could feel the weight of it in the room. It was as if there was no room for any evil, but it was pure enough for the Lord himself to be there.
I wasn't at all prepared for any of this; my thoughts were much more directed towards Santa and the following morning. However, it was greatest gift of this Christmas season; to realize that something I had done so long ago had made a lifelong impact on the lives of my boys.
Like I said before: you just never know.
Sometimes, an impact can be seen instantaneously. That's a nice feeling. Like when Glo texts me and asks me to pick her up after school because she's so tired. And on the way home, she falls asleep in the seat next to me. I know right away that I did a good thing.
Most of the time though, I find that you won't know what kind of impact you've made until a while later, or perhaps never. However, that doesn't negate the good you've done. After all, we shouldn't be serving in order to be seen. We should be serving in order to bring ourselves closer to our Savior.
I had heard of miraculous stories from the service of missionary children. Stories where a non-member family member joins the church while their child, or niece, or parents are serving a mission. Miracles of health where a father's health is prolonged just long enough so that he can see his returning missionary son before he dies. Miracles even of missionaries themselves, becoming converted to the gospel while on their mission.
John and I were occasionally asked by people what miracles we had seen in our lives while our boys were serving missions. I have blogged about this before. In reality, my life became much harder when my boys left for missions. Those blessings of health didn't fall upon my head, but instead, blessings of illness and broken bones filled the four combined years they were gone. John's constant struggles with finances, and the stresses of his job weren't lessened. We wondered why we seemed to be exempt from the blessings so many others received.
On Christmas Eve this year, someone suggested that we read from our Advent book. It's a large green binder that my Young Women's presidency created years ago in Bitburg. We've read the stories multiple times, and we all have our favorites. To my surprise, both Ethan and Mark chose a different set of books from which to pick their favorite stories.
While I was embarrassed to admit it at the time, I wrote the boys every day on their missions. Yes, every day. It was an all-consuming affair for four years, making sure that there was a letter or a package going out to them daily. It wasn't easy financially either; it costs over one dollar to send one letter to either Poland or Russia, and packages were easily over $100 to send. Ethan's letters arrived within a week, and sometimes within three or four days. It was great, knowing I could ask him some pressing question, and he could answer it in his next weekly email. It was hard though to stay motivated to write Mark, because his letters weren't sent directly to his apartment, and took over a month to just arrive in Russia (plus the time to actually get him his mail). By the time he replied to anything, I honestly couldn't remember what I had asked him!
I didn't realize it at the time, but writing my boys was a blessing in my life. As is the way with most types of service, we think we are blessing the life of another person, but in reality the blessings in our own lives that come from our service is so much greater. I can't think of another time in my life where I have had to make a conscious effort to serve someone on a daily basis for over four years.
One of the best ideas I had in those four years was to create an Advent book for the boys to read throughout December leading up to Christmas. One story a day. But instead of just copying the tried-and-true stories from our favorite green binder, I decided it would be nice to collect stories from friends and family who knew the boys, but who might not be corresponding with them on a regular basis.
It was a Herculean effort. I had to collect them early enough that I could type them up, get them to the printer, and get them to the boys before December 1. I was quickly reminded that not many people like to write as much as I do, and I was a bit disappointed when a couple of folks would send in some trite Christmas poem. However, for the most part, they were completely delightful. Not only did I send a copy to the boy currently serving a mission, but I gave copies to all the people who had contributed stories that year, and naturally kept a copy for myself.Funny thing? I didn't hear much back from the boys about them at all. In fact, I remember it was hard to feel like I should even make a copy for the fourth Christmas (Mark's last one in Russia). However, John encouraged me to do it, mostly I think because he wanted to have a new book too :-)
Fast forward to Christmas, 2015. Like I said, the boys didn't reach for the green binder, but to my utter surprise, they reached for the Advent books from their missions. We began thumbing through them, looking for our favorite laugh, or a story that might have been pulled from the green binder. We read them, and it was a nice time.
And then it was Ethan's turn.
I wish I could replay my memory from that night, because I almost feel like words won't describe the feelings or the story that was shared.
Ethan could hardly speak without crying, and for anyone who knows Ethan, that is saying something. I do believe he's cried three times in his life: when he read that Gandalf died in LOTR, when Dodge died, and when Mark's surprise video was played at his and Rebecca's wedding.
And to my surprise, when Mark walked in late (from a last-minute shopping run) and knew nothing of what had already transpired, he too reached for the books and had the exact same experience.
Both of the boys shared tender, almost sacred memories of how these books had been lifelines for them during very difficult times on their missions. Times when they felt alone, and when they wondered if God even remembered them. For Ethan, it was just the moment each day of having a piece of home in his life. Whether he sat down first thing in the morning and read the story of the day while eating his cereal, or he was meeting up with other missionaries to read together, the stories were stories of love from people who cared about him. In simpler terms, they were a light.
In fact, as we were listening to Ethan and talking about things, he sent off a text to one of the elders who was serving with him at the time, Elder Kryzminski. Here was his reply:
Brother Kennedy, I still praise the name of your mother for putting so much effort into making that Christmas season so meaningful. I wanted to make it through each day just so I could read a new story about a Christmas miracle that had happened somewhere else. Larisa Kennedy is a saint.
For Mark, it was a specific story, "The Parable of the Dogs", that helped him through a very dark time in Pushkin. As he read the story, a sacrament meeting talk that I had given just months earlier, not only did he get emotional but so did I. It almost felt like scripture as he read it, as it dawned on me that the suffering I had experienced since my boys had left on missions was actually the refiner's fire, making me a stronger, more resilient person. Like Mark expressed himself, I wasn't left alone by the Lord, but instead was being given experiences to remind me how MUCH the Lord loves me.
Again, words can't really express the feelings at the moment, but the feeling in the room was very much the same as other sacred experiences I've had. The Spirit was so strong, and so pure, that I could feel the weight of it in the room. It was as if there was no room for any evil, but it was pure enough for the Lord himself to be there.
I wasn't at all prepared for any of this; my thoughts were much more directed towards Santa and the following morning. However, it was greatest gift of this Christmas season; to realize that something I had done so long ago had made a lifelong impact on the lives of my boys.
Like I said before: you just never know.
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ReplyDeleteThis is one of my favorite experiences from Christmas this year! I can't imagine how hard you must have worked to put together those awesome advent books, and it was so special to see how much they meant to Ethan and Mark! You are an exceptionally amazing mom!
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