Learning to share the gospel

I've never really considered myself a perfectionist. As the semesters of college progressed, I turned in as sloppy of homework as I could get away with. As I am typing this, I see toys scattered across the rug, and it doesn't bother me. If I'm in a bad mood, I rarely try to hide it, figuring that owning my bad mood will make it go away faster.

Ironically, these things may still prove I am a perfectionist deep down -- I don't want to be lifted up as a role model since I'm not perfect. I don't want to be pointed to as a good example of a female engineer because I didn't always put forth the effort I could have. I feel incredibly apologetic if someone comes into my house when the dishes aren't done. And I feel sheepish whenever someone tells me I'm a kind person because I don't feel like one a lot of the time (and want to instead list off the people who seem much friendlier).

I realized recently that this unhealthy attitude has hampered my missionary efforts in a lot of ways. Although I've talked to others about my faith when they already know I'm LDS, it's rare that I voluntarily bring up religion. After all, how dare I suggest the gospel to a neighbor when I've fallen short as a Christian and been completely out of the loop about the neighbor's trials? Am I good Mormon even though I don't sign up for every service project?

Looking at these attitudes on the screen makes me realize how silly they are. And yet I have let them hold me back from sharing the sweet fruit of the gospel with those around me. However, an experience I had last week has given me confidence in sharing the gospel.

When we went to Europe, I really really wanted to have a missionary experience. While in England, I think people were able to tell we were Mormon based on the fact that we were from Utah (even knowing that a wine list would be pointless for us), but I never took the opportunity to share the gospel.

And then we went to France. We were welcomed in proper French style -- there was a transportation strike earlier that day. That meant that we got to take the train into Paris for free, but we arrived much later than anticipated. I had no way to contact our Airbnb hosts, so I felt incredibly embarrassed when we showed up close to midnight. To make matters worse, I guess we hadn't made clear that we were bringing a 1-year-old along. Surprise! How could we be good missionaries if our first impression had gone so awry?

Then came Sunday. Up til then, we had only had two brief interactions with our hosts, and both were on Friday. But when we came back from our adventures, there was our hostess on the couch, ready to chat with us about our adventures.

"This is it," I thought. Just mention that we went to church this morning. But fear of being a bad representative of my church kept my mouth shut, and I started talking instead about the lovely gardens we had seen.

Luckily, Kevin spoke up. "We also went to church this morning." The questions started to come. What church? Where is it located? Who goes to church while on vacation (let alone all three hours of it)?

At this point, Joseph was hungry, so I went into another room to feed him. But I heard Kevin talking about our lay ministry, some of our beliefs, and even our shared conviction for traditional marriage*. It was neat to see how much we had in common.

The next day, when we came back from our Parisian adventures, more questions about the Church came rolling in. No, men can't have more than one wife. Yes, they could until 1890 but not anymore. No, it's not just an American religion -- of the 15 million members, more reside outside the US than in. Yes, there are Mormons in France (although I guessed 50,000 when it's more like 30,000). Yes, we emphasize the importance of family, just like Catholics. As we talked, I felt such joy in sharing something so dear to me, even though the conversation didn't delve into major beliefs.

On Tuesday, we were up by 6. I felt embarrassed again to be keeping our hosts up at such ungodly hours, but I didn't beat myself up about it this time. As we left, they smiled again at Joseph, calling him mignon (cute) for the hundredth time, and telling him he would grow up to be a good and smart boy because his parents were part of such a wonderful religion.

Wow. Somehow we had been good examples of our religion after all. How did this miracle take place? We didn't have to be artificially perky, apologetic, pedantic, or perfect. We just were where we were supposed to be on Sunday, and we brought it up in conversation. That's all it took, and then the Spirit took over**.

So, if you're like me and let your perceived inadequacies prevent you from sharing the gospel, don't worry so much!  I learned that I didn't have to be a perfect example of my religion to plant seeds of faith -- I loved it, and that was enough.

And it will always be enough.

*If you haven't heard about this, it's worth looking at. Keep in mind that Paris has only 2.2 million people, so to have 1 million people at a protest is unbelievable. Kind of cool to meet people who participated!

**Well, it also probably helped that Joseph was an angel baby the whole stay. Miracles happen.