Last month marked the 20th anniversary of the start of my mission to Milan, Italy. I reported to the Missionary Training Center in Provo Utah on January 2nd 1991. Wow, has it really been that long? Growing up I always
said I was going to serve a mission, but I remember so clearly the day I decided I was going for sure...
I was about 16 years old and was mowing the lawn for a neighbor while I listened to my walkman (kind of like an iPod, but less cool and much bigger). I have always enjoyed the isolation that the roar of the lawn mower provides. I was thinking about the various events on my calendar that week - sports, dance, mutual, church, seminary - and it occurred to me that they were all somehow related to church. I was immediately overwhelmed with what a blessing the gospel was in my life. I thought about other kids my age all over the world and wanted them to have the same experiences I was having. From that point I knew that not only did I have a responsibility to serve a mission, but I wanted to go.
I did not like pasta with red sauce when I was growing up. In fact, I remember my mom stopped setting a place for me at the table on nights we had pasta. (However, I do remember enjoying the buttered, toasted hot dog buns we ate with the pasta.). I was a little worried about what I would eat for 2 years, but I learned to love Italian food and the gelato certainly kept me from withering away. Now Italian is one of my favorite foods.
I can remember at times feeling very lonely during my mission. This usually happened at the start of a new area or companionship. I quickly found that the antidote for those feelings was hard work. If I sat around feeling sorry for myself it only seemed to slow down time and make me feel worse. Instead, I would try to remember a poem my Grandma Simonson often sent me: "Work will win, when wishy washy wishing won't." Most nights I would reflect on the wonderful experiences and memories of the day. This habit made it easier to jump out of bed the next morning with the anticipation of what new relationships and adventures awaited me. The days were long but the weeks went by fast.
The mission was one of the most rewarding experiences in my life. I thought I was going out to help others, but in the end I benefited the most. I gained a stronger testimony of the gospel, I learned to serve others, I fell in love with the Italian people and culture, but best of all I made the most important acquaintance of my life. Through various mission conferences and a visit to the hospital I was fortunate to meet Sorella Bennett. I didn't know it at that time, but she would later become my eternal companion and the mother of 5
perfect children. The lesson I learned is that even though something may be scary and/or hard the blessings often far exceed the sacrifice. I just need to take a deep breath, grab the reigns of faith, give the horse a kick and...
giddy up, StevieG
I have only had a few other nicknames over the years. In High School there was a small contingent who referred to me as Scooter - after the glasses wearing Muppet character. Also during that time we had occasion to video tape a few "raps" that my friends and I wrote. I often referred to myself in those raps as "Master G". Funny how that name never stuck. During my mission in Italy many of the teenagers didn't like referring to the missionaries as Anziano (Elder) so they were always trying to find out our first names. However, the mission didn't want us to give out our first names. So I took the middle ground and told them my first name was Fletch (after one of my favorite movies at the time). At work I often find myself in the company of several other people named Steve so about 15 years ago when I worked for Hughes Aircraft in Denver I sometimes referred to myself as StevieG to help avoid confusion. That name has probably gained more traction than any other.
