When I first arrived in the “mission field” in Lynwood, Washington, I was about as clueless as a Mormon missionary could get. I hardly understood the teachings of the church, I had only a rudimentary three-week exposure to the six standard discussions that missionaries teach, and I was absolutely clueless what it was like to be a Mormon – especially compared to the missionaries from Utah and Idaho. But what I did know was that I had been forgiven of my sins by my Savior Jesus Christ, and I wanted to share that with anyone that would listen to me.
My first assignment came on day two in the field at a large meeting called Transfers. All of the elders and sisters that were being transferred to a new area and all of their current companions were called to meet at a church meeting house. We would sing a few hymns, the mission president would give a sermon on things like the importance of living a Christ-like life if we are trying to represent Him. The mission president’s wife would often speak. And one or two of the assistants to the president (APs), zone leaders, and/or district leaders would speak on a topic of their choosing.
Then the president would stand and make the announcements about who was going where. Elder Smith will be going to the Seattle First Area with Elder Johnson. Elder Smith would stand, find Elder Johnson, and go sit with him. Often times, the two elders didn’t know each other, but here they would find out who they would spend 18 hours a day with for the next few months. If you’re really shy, this could be nerve racking.
I wasn’t shy per se, but I was quite unaware of this life. President McFarlane stood and announced that Elder Haines will be going to Lynwood with Elder Chamberlain. I stood and struggled to find another standing elder. He was sitting, but waived me over. I shook his hand and sat. He don’t say anything but that’s ok since there were more transfers to be announced.
When the announcements were completed, we all left the chapel with a sense of excitement and sacred calling, went to the stacks of luggage, and headed to our rides, usually a member from the area to which we were being sent. That’s when I met one of the kindest, sweetest, spiritually gifted people I’ve ever met. Sister Sawyer was in her mid-sixties, had a classically sweet smile, and a kind demeanor. She instantly became your friend the moment you met her.
On the drive to Lynwood I learned that we would be living in her basement. That sounds bad, but her and Brother Sawyer had fully refurbished their basement into a missionary apartment where we had free reign. The bedroom had two twin beds and a sliding door to a beautifully tended flower garden. I laid my suitcases on the bed that would be mine, and began unzipping the first one.
Elder Chamberlain asked me what I was doing, like I was just doing it wrong. I said I just thought I would unpack. He said we have work to do, no time to unpack. I followed him to the garage where I had just stored my brand new Norco Kokanee bike. He was already on his bike and buckling his helmet, when I realized he was going to leave me behind. I jumped on mine, struggled to buckle the helmet, and when racing down the driveway to try to catch up.
He was nearing the entrance of our cul-de-sac and about to turn right when I finally started catching up. Turning right meant going up a long, steep hill – the kind you’d think would be fun to ride a bike on. But going up hill, and not when you hadn’t ridden a bike in years. He kept peddling through, barely slowing at each intersection, and the. Pushed through before I could catch up. This kept up until we reached the far side of our assigned area, about three and a half miles away.
Chamberlain was locking his bike to a stop sign at 158th Place SW, when I arrived and placed my bike as close to his as I could since the U-bolt lock was only so long. He asked me what I’m doing, like I annoyed him. When I began explaining, he told me to find my own sign to lock it to. I felt so out of touch and unwelcome. I didn’t know what I’d done to upset him or if he was just having a bad day, but I’d later find that this was his demeanor every day.
I caught up to my new companion as we approached the first door I would ever knock as a Mormon missionary. I can see the house and the street in my mind’s eye, but had to search the map in Street Vew to find it. Elder Chamberlain stepped up onto the porch, knocked on the glass storm door three times, then stepped back down a step and said “Your door.”
I thought he was kidding. He wasn’t kidding.
I stepped forward just as a kind elderly lady came to the door. She opened the front door, and cracked the storm door to ask how she could help us.
“Hi! I’m Bryant… Elder Haines. We’re here to give you a Book of Mormon.”
Not one of the “door approaches” I had learned at the Missionary Training Center (MTC) sounded anything like that. I stammered through it and she pleasantly smiled as I held out a blue soft-copy print of the book. She reached through the crack in the door and said Thank You! Then she retreated inside.
I had no idea what I was doing, but I felt like that wasn’t too extremely bad for a first try. Chamberlain just stood there, not moving. I asked what was wrong. He just shook his head and said “We haven’t had anyone accept one in weeks.”
There were about two dozen homes in this horseshoe shaped road, and he had me knock every one of them. I asked if he could show me how it’s done, and he told me I’d be fine. Near the end of the horseshoe I knocked on the door of a split-story white house. A man in his late twenties or early thirties opened the door and seemed happy to see us. I had tweaked my intro over the last dozen attempts to “We’re Missionaries here to share a message about our Savior Jesus Christ.”
It wasn’t a request. It was just a simple statement. The man introduced himself as Chris and welcomed us in. This was so cool! We went up the dark blue carpet and sat on the sofa facing him. He said he wanted to hear more. He seemed like he could tell I was nervous and was willing to be patient. I so needed that. I had now knocked on a couple dozen doors, had about a dozen answers, and this was my second door that didn’t just close the door in dismissal.
I had no idea what to do next, but I was sure Elder Chamberlain knew. I turned to him and asked him to start us off. He kindly deferred since it was my door, knowing I had no idea how to do this. My MTC training kicked in, and I opened my Lesson One booklet, “The Plan of Salvation.”
In what had to be the word presentation ever given, I read each sentence, looked up for any response, then read the next one. The booklet even had standard questions to ask, of which I asked each one. He answered accordingly, and I kept pushing through. It felt so entirely unnatural, but I wasn’t familiar enough yet with the content or the doctrines to deviate from the script.
When we got to the last part, Chris seemed genuinely touched. He prayed with us and agreed to meet again some time. Some two months later I had the honor of baptizing him at the local Lynnwood chapel.
I never did find out what I did to upset Chamberlain. That first night in the mission field, I knelt beside my new bed in the dark and prayed that God would let me go to sleep and wake up the next morning with it being the last day of my mission. Just please let this be over. I repented of that prayer every night for the next two years.
A couple days before he was transferred, we were on our bikes headed toward the house when I felt like I was prompted to find someone to teach. I asked him to stop to talk and shared what I was thinking. He seemed irritated that I thought I knew what to do. “Ok, if you’re in charge, where is this person we’re supposed to talk to? Which door is going to magically open and let us in?”
I stood there straddling my bike and confessed I didn’t know, but suggested we pray. He told me to go ahead. I prayed for guidance to know where we should go next to find those the Lord has prepared to hear His word. When I looked up, I had no clear answer, so I suggested we lock our bikes to the chain link fence next to us and take work the doors on the road we were crossing.
His pocket map of the area had been marked, but mine had not, meaning he had already tracted this street before I arrived. We knocked every door, and every one was either unanswered or unkind. All the way down the dead end street and almost all the way back up the other side. Then I knocked on a door with an older car parked out front. A sweet little black haired girl answered the door and invited us in. I asked her to get her mommy or daddy first.
Her mom came to the door and invited us in again. We sat down and this mom and her three girls were grateful to have us there. Anita, Christina, and Maria were the girls’ names. I don’t remember their mom’s name but I will try to find it in my journals. She was not having an easy life, and my heart felt for her. Her three girls were playful and attentive at the same time. It had been about six or eight weeks since my first stammering lesson with Chris, but I had figured out that I knew the basics well enough to testify of the truth and let the Holy Spirit do His work. This sweet family all wanted to be baptized from that first day. A short few weeks later, I was blessed to stand in the baptismal font and immerse each one of them in the water in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.
Needless to say, Elder Chamberlain didn’t say much on our walk a few houses back to the bikes or the ride home.
At my two month mark, we were called to return to Transfers, where Elder Chamberlain was moved to a new area. We never got very close, but I learned to love him and appreciate him. I had attended church most of my youth, and had a primary level understanding of the teachings and the hymns. One we sang as early as I can remember was “Called To Serve.” It’s THE missionary song. I knew the words, but at this conference I noticed something different about it. First, a chapel filled with 200 elders (mostly) and sisters who have actually been called to serve the Heavenly King of Glory just sing it with a different level of vigor. Second, an elder I hadn’t met yet played the grand piano in the chapel and the way he played this hymn was just more powerful than anywhere else I’ve ever heard it. Elder Higgenbitham commanded the keys with a power and a passion that fueled everyone else to sing with more enthusiasm than I can describe. He added a few sforzanado marcotto beats in just the right places. It sent chills up my spine every time I heard it. I would travel to hear him play it again today.
After the hymn transfer announcements began and I got to meet Elder Alma Miller, a guy that was both taller than me and a humble giant. He was so tall, in fact that Sister Sawyer had her husband build an eighteen inch extension to Miller’s bed so his feet didn’t dangle so far off the bed.
As I remember it, Elder Miller arrived in the mission field with some health issues, so he’d served his first year in the mission office providing administrative services for those of us deployed in the mission jungle. That meant I got to train him how to do door approaches and to teach the lessons. He’d been practicing these for quite some time, but this was the real world. It was my honor to serve and love this giant for all of a month before I was transferred to another area. President Macfarlane explained to me in a one-on-one interview that I would’ve called to serve with other elders that needed patience and love to help them succeed. I didn’t know it then, but that meant I would have more companions and serve in more areas with more transfers that just about anyone else in the mission. I believe I served with eighteen companions over my 24 month mission. Every one a blessing to me. My first transfer out of my “greenie” area was to the Kirkland Second area where I was made a district leader.