Each book will have a Letter to the Mission President Page.  You will be asked to provide a similar page.  This is a sample from another Memories & Miracles book.

 

A Letter to Sister Wade

​

Dear Sister Wade,

 

We've been working on this book project for you, collecting stories from your missionaries, and something wonderful has happened. As we read through the articles—some funny, some sacred, some both—we realized we needed to write you a letter. Not just from one missionary, but from all of us. Because that's how missionary work actually worked in Finland, wasn't it? We succeeded together.

​

We want you to know something that maybe we never told you fifty years ago: your letters meant everything. You were the kind of person who remembered that missionaries existed and needed mail like plants need sunlight. We all received letters from you, and they made us feel remembered and valued, which is a precious commodity when you're thousands of miles from home in a place where the sun barely shows up in winter.

​

When that letter from Sister Wade arrived, it didn't matter that we'd just been thrown downstairs in Naantali  or that our bike chains had frozen solid in Tornio  or that someone had called us names we couldn't quite translate but knew weren't complimentary. You remembered us. You cared. That mattered more than you'll ever know.

​

You should also know—and we're only telling you this now because enough time has passed—that we may have occasionally understated just how hot those Finnish saunas actually were. When we said they were "relaxing" and "wonderful," we weren't lying exactly. They were wonderful. They just happened to be wonderful at temperatures that could sterilize surgical equipment. President Wade knew, of course. He was a missionary in Finland. But we didn't want you to worry, because you were our mission mother, and mission mothers shouldn't have to picture their boys and girls sitting in 95-degree Celsius heat that would make scientists question human survival limits. The sauna helped make better missionaries in Finland, building sisu—that Finnish stubbornness that kept us knocking on doors even when our fingers were too cold to feel the doorbell. So thank you for not asking too many questions about the exact temperature settings.

​

We've learned something profound as we've collected these stories: when one missionary has success, we all have success. When one companionship witnesses a baptism, it's because another companionship knocked on that door six months earlier. And before them, another companionship placed a Book of Mormon with the family. And before them, another companionship tracted that street and planted the first seed of curiosity about those Finnish and American young men and young women teaching about Jesus Christ. We are all part of an unbroken chain of faith, effort, and obedience stretching across the Finland Helsinki Mission during the Wade era. Every door knocked, every discussion taught, every testimony borne—they all mattered. They all connected. They all led somewhere, even when we couldn't see where.

​

So yes, stretching it just a bit: when Veli Petersen was thrown down the stairs in Naantali, we were all thrown down those stairs with him. When Veli Colton froze while tracting in Salo, we all froze. When Veli Mottishaw saw Antti baptized in Hyvinkää, we all witnessed that miracle. We were successful in our efforts together. Not just the missionaries who happened to be there for the baptism. Not just the companions who taught the final discussions. But all of us—the ones who knocked first, the ones who followed up, the ones who befriended, the ones who invited, the ones who drove investigators to church, the ones who fellowshipped new members.

 

You were the one who made sure we knew we were loved.

​

That's the real miracle of missionary work, Sister Wade. You plant seeds not knowing if they'll grow, not knowing how far the roots will spread, not knowing what fruit will eventually come. But you plant them anyway, in faith, trusting that the Lord knows what He's doing even when you don't. We've heard stories now—fifty years later—of people we taught who became district leaders, of families we knocked on who were baptized years after we left, of prayers given that affected one person, and then a whole village, of conversations we thought went nowhere that someone remembered their whole life. One of our investigators said in her baptism interview that she came to know the truth when two young, humble boys came to her and brought something into her life and house she had never had before. We didn't know we were bringing anything except a message. But the Spirit made us instruments, even when we felt inadequate and clumsy and very, very far from home.

​

We remember now what it felt like to believe so completely that we'd knock on one more door, even when we'd knocked on hundreds that day and heard "ei kiitos" (no thanks) so many times it became a soundtrack. We remember converts' faces when they bore their testimonies, switching between Finnish and broken English, tears streaming down their cheeks, the Spirit so strong in those little branch buildings, which were sometimes a store-front chapel, that we knew—absolutely knew—we were part of something eternal. We remember that the gospel was simple then, before we all complicated it with knowledge and experience as we aged after our missions. Let's hold onto that simplicity. The Finnish winter taught us that spring always comes, even when the darkness seems endless.  

​

You and President Wade taught us something we're only now fully understanding; people don't reject the gospel because it's false. They reject it because accepting it means change, and change is terrifying. It means admitting you were wrong before. It means standing alone sometimes. It means becoming someone new. We had an investigator once who said, "I know it's true. I know it. But I'm afraid." When we asked what she feared, she said, "Of being wrong. Of my friends laughing. Of . . .  being good enough." That's when it clicked. We told her, struggling with our clumsy Finnish, "Jeesus tekee meidät riittävän hyviksi"—Jesus makes us good enough. She cried then. We set a baptismal date. That lesson you taught us—that the gospel isn't about being good enough, it's about becoming better through Christ—that stayed with us. We've taught it to our children, our grandchildren, our Sunday School classes. It started in Finland, in your mission, under your care.

​

We thought at one time—or maybe always—that people searched for something. They just wanted something that would free them from the world and from anxieties and from being like other people. What they really searched for was the gospel of Jesus Christ, and when it was before them, some turned it down. It made us sad for them then, and it still does. But we also learned that our job wasn't to force conversion. It was to offer invitation. To knock. To teach. To testify. To love. The rest was between them and the Lord.

​

The Lord doesn't see our missionary work in isolation. He sees it as one unified effort, each of us playing our part in His grand design for the people of the world. Your role in that design, Sister Wade, was enormous.  You were the one who wrote letters when we were homesick. You were the one who trusted President Wade when he said the saunas were fine (they were, mostly, if you define "fine" loosely). You were the one who prayed for us, worried about us, and believed in us even when we didn't believe in ourselves.

​

One of our LTM teachers told us that for the Japan and Finnish missions, the General Authorities take four to six weeks picking missionaries. They said, "You have a big responsibility." We didn't fully understand that then. We were just kids, really—nineteen, twenty, twenty-one years old, barely able to conjugate Finnish verbs correctly, certainly not wise enough to understand what we were part of. But you and President Wade did understand. You shepherded us through those two years, knowing that what we learned in Finland would shape the rest of our lives.

​

And it did. Fifty years later, we still think in Finnish sometimes. We still crave pulla and real sauna. We still have dreams where we're knocking on doors in Pori or Turku or Tornio , and we wake up with that mixture of anxiety and joy that defined missionary work. We still tell our families about the time we taught someone who actually read the entire Book of Mormon in three days, or the time we got lost in a snowstorm, or the time a member fed us something we couldn't identify but ate anyway because Finns are generous and you don't refuse Finnish hospitality.

​

But more than the cultural memories, we carry the spiritual ones. The feeling of the Spirit confirming truth in a tiny branch building. The tears of new converts. The fellowship of companions who became lifelong friends. The knowledge that we were part of something bigger than ourselves. The testimony that grew from tender to unshakeable during those two years of service.

​

Kiitos, Sister Wade. Thank you for everything. Thank you for the letters. Thank you for the prayers. Thank you for trusting that we'd be okay in saunas that reached temperatures you probably didn't want to know about. Thank you for loving us when we were far from home and learning to be servants of the Lord.

​

We succeeded together, Sister Wade. We're still succeeding together, fifty years later, as we share these stories and strengthen each other's resolve to continue in the Lord's work. Every article we've collected for this book is a testament to your influence, to President Wade's leadership, and to the Finnish people who opened their hearts to the gospel.

​

The sun may barely shine in Finnish winters, but the gospel brought light. You and President Wade were part of that light. And we—your missionaries—carried that light home with us. We've been sharing it ever since.

With love, gratitude, and a lifetime of memories from the land of sisu and saunas, and from wherever we live, this book is for you and your family.

 

                 Your Missionaries

 

P.S. – We promise the saunas really were wonderful. Just . . . very, very hot. President Wade understands. We think you do too, now.