Lighthouses

Those of you who read my blogs (at least when I can be bothered to actually write one–which seems to happen less and less frequently these days) know that I have thought a lot during our mission about what it means to be a family. Over the past month, I have thought a lot about what it means to be a father. (And why Father’s Day plays such a second fiddle to Mother’s Day, but that’s another story . . . ) And then I decided I needed to hurry up and write this blogpost before Red Ruby Scarlet manages to get rid of Father’s Day altogether.

At the beginning of our mission, most of the people you would meet at church would, at some point, ask us how many children we had. At the outset that was an easy question to answer: we had four children. As time went on, however, it got more and more difficult to respond to. You see, during our mission we have begun collecting children kind of like this woman collects stray cats. And the more kids we added to our family, the more I began to worry about my role as their “father.”

So, obviously, I started thinking about lighthouses. And no, not in a “I am so stressed out that I need to picture a peaceful picture of a lovely lighthouse by a beautiful sandy beach in order to calm myself” kind of way. In a more “Wow, Blaine, what an amazing analogy” kind of way.

You see, when you live in eastern Canada, you come across a lot of lighthouses. And the purpose of a lighthouse is to warn you of hazards, help orient you, and guide you to your destination. They provide a sense of safety and hope, even when storms or darkness prevent you from seeing the shore or harbor. Ahh, now you are getting the picture.

I got my first inkling of what was happening to the size of “our family” when Marjhory gave a talk in Sacrament Meeting relatively early during our mission and referred to Mary and me as her “adoptive” parents. The branch president’s eyebrows raised a little and he smiled at me in a “were you aware of this?” kind of way. It wasn’t long before Marjhory was referring to us as “mom” and “dad.”

Then Louis began referring to me as his “gospel dad.” I began noticing the number of times one of the young missionaries we serve with here in Québec City would make references to us as their “parents,” or suggesting that they would seek our approval of their choice of spouse after their mission. Last week when we were in Montréal to take Marjhory to the temple and to receive her patriarchal blessing we ran into Hermana Khan at district council and she introduced me to the other missionaries in her district by saying, “This is my dad, y’all.” (And yes, she is from Texas.)

I didn’t really understand the depth of all this until about a month ago. It was the Monday night after Father’s Day, and we were at the church just finishing up with our young single adult Come Follow Me study group. Emma asked me to step out in the hallway so she could tell me something. She started out by saying that she had made me a Father’s Day card, but that while she was walking to the bus to come to the church the wind had blown it out of her hand and carried it away. But she wanted me to know, she said, “that you are a father figure” to all of the young single adults, and expressed her appreciation for that. At first I was a little weirded out by all this, but now I have just decided to embrace it.

All of these experiences got me thinking a lot about fathers and their role. And how sad it is that there are so many young people whose life experiences are such that they need, and are looking for, a father figure. I think it is easy to see your role as a “father” as very proactive; as in “warning,” “orienting” and “guiding” by telling your children what to do, how to do it and when to do it, even before understanding what the problem is. And I am sure my own sons have scars from when I did exactly that. But lighthouses don’t really say much. They just stand there–available in times of need–having weathered decades of bad weather, resting on a firm foundation and understanding how to withstand the storms of life. Oftentimes, being calm and available isn’t just all you need to do, but what you really really have to do.

Last winter, one sister missionary approached me at a branch activity a few days before Zone Conference and said, “Elder Bates, I am going to tell President I want to go home.” This particular sister was only in her second transfer and hadn’t even officially finished being trained. She had previously indicated to me that she was struggling with her companion. So I took her aside so we could talk. As we walked down the hallway to a more quiet spot, I was thinking about what I was going to say; how I was going to “warn,” “orient” and “guide.” But all of those choices involved me telling her what I thought she should do before I even fully understood everything she was dealing with. So I decided to just listen first. She talked about the issues she was having with her companion, but also her breakup with her boyfriend, and her family situation back home–where she had been the one holding her family together in very challenging circumstances. She spoke without interruption for a good 15 minutes before I started asking her a few questions. The entire conversation lasted an hour. But during that time I was able to help orient her, in a manner of speaking, relative to her companion, her ex-boyfriend and her family, warn her about the realities and consequences of leaving her mission, and help guide her in making the decision to stick it out, despite the current period of storms and darkness. We ran into her recently in Montréal. Six months after a “perfect storm” almost wrecked her on a very rocky shore, she was doing great, loving mission life and sailing full steam ahead.

There have been many other moments of being available, warning, orienting and guiding. Weekly conversations with a recent convert about his past life of addiction and related mental health issues, struggling to overcome the natural man and become more like the Savior, all the while finding balance between helping friends from his past without slipping back into old habits. Ongoing conversations with another recent convert about the importance of obedience and enduring to the end. Listening to missionaries as they process returning home to uncertain situations and futures. Also listening to sister missionaries talk about mission crushes (some realities in the mission field never change). There was a time when I would probably would have just said, “Sorry, Sister, but I don’t really think he’s in to you, and by the time you go home he will probably be married anyway”. But the wiser me just smiles and nods my head.

Not all of our “parenting” moments in the mission field have been this intense–although there have been a lot more emotional interactions than I could have imagined at the start of our mission. I hadn’t really thought about the fact that the first and most important role of a lighthouse is just to be there–clearly visible (even during fair weather), resting on a solid foundation and approachable. Then, when the winds, hail and mighty storms come and beat upon our circle of friends, members or young missionaries, they know that there is a lighthouse waiting to warn, orient and guide them. To make them feel safe and give them hope as they navigate the periodic storms, darkness and perils of life. And hopefully with a light that is not piercing or blinding, but instead warm, inviting and comforting.