Missionary Focus:
Assorted Assyrians

by Betty Curry

“Call me Sister Jonah,” I declare whenever faced with seemingly insurmountable apprehension. With his anxieties and frailties, the biblical personality with that whale trouble is someone close to my heart. After all, it is easy to relate to someone so … well … so human.

Now Jonah was a faithful church member, a prophet even, but he had one problem. He didn’t like his mission call. The Lord had called him to the Assyria Nineveh mission. It’s hard to blame poor old Jonah! The Assyrians were infamous for their brutality, striking terror in the hearts of neighboring peoples. Fear superseded faith, so Jonah chose what he thought would be the easier course: disobedience. He fled to Tarshish by way of Joppa, and we all know how the Lord set him back on the right path, the one leading to Nineveh.

When I received my mission call, I immediately identified with the fearful prophet. The Alaska Anchorage Mission? They had to be kidding! The Assyrians I presumed I had to face went by different names: subfreezing temperatures, ice, half a year of darkness, and even bears. But an Assyrian by any other name is still an Assyrian.

Here I was with only a summer wardrobe, a ghastly phobia of walking on ice, and night blindness. And I was called to Alaska! Besides, an Alaskan mission costs far more money than my savings account contained. My mind could not comprehend the logic of it all. A few days later, as my fears multiplied, I stormed into the bishop’s office.

“They made a mistake,” I told my bewildered bishop. “I bet they do mission calls by computer now, and they input the wrong information on me.”

“What are you talking about, Betty?” he inquired, as a smile touched his lips.

“It’s illogical,” I protested. “I can’t afford the world’s most expensive mission. The Missionary Department must have input the wrong information on me.”

“You know better than that. Besides, I’ve already explained to you that the ward will help support you financially.” Ever-patient, Bishop Brotherston attempted to dispel my fears. “I believe the Lord wants you in Alaska, Betty.”

I was not pacified.

“But the Lord knows I cannot tract on all that ice!”

“If you wish, I’ll call Salt Lake to confirm it,” he offered.

“No, it’s okay,” I responded weakly. “Let me think about it.”

Fear clouded reason, and I walked out debating whether or not to accept the prophet’s call. Jonah’s solution to flee appeared to be an increasingly attractive alternative. So often disobedience seems to be the easier course, especially when we do not understand where the proper path will take us.

It’s not always easy to walk into the midst of a fiery furnace as did Shadrach, Meshach and Abed-nego. Or to hold onto the iron rod when multitudes are pointing the finger of scorn at us. Or to fight a good fight and finish the course (see 2 Tim. 4:7). Just ask the Apostle Paul, who endured shipwrecks, scourgings, stonings, derision, imprisonment, and finally martyrdom as he valiantly crossed the finish line of his own personal course.

Overcoming our individual Assyrians is supposed to be difficult; without opposition we could not fully develop our faith and character during this brief second estate called mortality. So how do we conquer these assorted Assyrians? How do we replace our Jonah-like tendencies with those of Nephi who expressed: “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the things which he commandeth them” (1 Ne. 3:7)?

In my seven years of membership in the Church, I have often contemplated the question of obedience and the motivations required for complete dedication to the Lord’s will.

My institute teacher once said that there are three primary motivations for obedience. The lowest of these—the telestial motivation, if you will—is fear. We are afraid of the Lord’s punishment for disobedience. This isn’t always compelling because we frequently overlook the consequences of our actions. The terrestrial motivation is duty. We do it because obedience is expected of us by our parents, spouse, friends, or church leaders. This too doesn’t always work because so often selfishness intrudes into our good intentions. The celestial, or purest, motivation is love for Heavenly Father and his Son, Jesus Christ. Now it is only this highest motivation which is compelling enough to keep us totally committed and submissive to the Lord’s will. And this calls for unwavering trust in God, no matter how illogical circumstances may seem. My mathematical mind reduced it to this equation: trust in God equals obedience of man. It is important to realize that understanding the reasons for obedience is not always a part of the equation.

Adam didn’t understand at first why he was sacrificing the firstlings of his flock. When an angel questioned his reason, he responded: “I know not, save the Lord commanded me” (Moses 5:6). What Adam lacked in comprehension, he made up for in trust.

And what of Abraham? I suspect the question Why? was present in his mind as he led his son Isaac up Mount Moriah to sacrifice him at the Lord’s command. However, his total trust led to his submission.

Trusting God gives you the strength to be obedient to his will. I had forgotten that as I faced the prospect of 18 months in Alaska. Unlike Jonah, I couldn’t escape my Assyrians by running to Tarshish. I’m thankful for that because I think being swallowed by a whale would be worse than an Alaskan winter. Confused and frightened, I chose an alternative prayer. As I pleaded for confirmation of the Lord’s will, Heavenly Father’s answer reminded me of the importance of trust.

On my knees, I recalled that I had felt that same terror a few months previously. I was studying the Bible on location in Israel for five months as part of the Brigham Young University’s study abroad program. As part of our program, we were expected to climb Mount Sinai. Being from the flat metropolis of Toronto, Canada, I hadn’t had much association with the wilderness, much less mountain climbing. I feared failure, and became more morose as the date of the climb approached.

All too soon the dreaded day descended upon me. Numbed by trepidation and a night of sleepless worry, I arose to meet the challenge.

We started our ascent at 2:00 A.M. so we could reach the summit by sunrise. It was a rugged two-and-a-half hour climb. I don’t think I could have made it without Tenney Sipherd.

“Follow me, Betty,” Tenney said as we departed the youth hostel at the foot of the mountain. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you.”

How she helped! Tenney had a small flashlight, so we could find the trail in the dark. And every time the path got rocky, she would take my hand and lead me through. If I stumbled, she would pull me up. I grew to trust Tenney as we climbed the majestic peak in the dark.

Elated, we reached the top of Mount Sinai a few minutes before sunrise, and I blushed as my fellow students and friends applauded my victory over the rugged mountain. Taking a seat beside them, I watched in awe as the first rays of sunlight flashed over the horizon of the barren Sinai wilderness. Tears filled my eyes as the symbolism of the climb occurred to me.

All of us have mountains in our lives: mountains of trials, mountains of discouragement, mountains of temptations. And sometimes we cannot see where we are going, and sometimes the path is rough, and sometimes we stumble. But we must always remember that there is one who will take us by the hand and keep us on the right path and pick us up when we fall. We just have to follow his light. And that’s the Savior. As we rely on him, we learn to trust him. And trust leads to obedience.

That was my answer! I may not understand why I’ve been called to meet my Assyrians in Alaska, but if I trust in the Lord and do his will, he will lead me to the summit where I shall see the sunrise of his love.

Illustrated by Dilleen Marsh