SUNDAY THOUGHT
I don’t remember much about my first day as a missionary in the Dominican Republic. I felt like I could get robbed at any moment. To be fair, the metal bars on every door, window, and porch was a new experience for me. I also remember that our last visit of the night was to Bioka. Sitting on her porch and looking out at the palm trees gently rocking in the breeze, I only remember thinking that the metal bars encasing us reminded me of Pirates of the Caribbean.
Arriving to this small town was a shock to my system. I had never really had to ask myself difficult questions about my testimony. In the picture above, I’m standing outside of the apartment where I lived. Each night after my companion had gone to sleep, I would kneel in the front room and pray for the testimony I so badly craved. I wanted an aha moment, something I could point to and say in that very moment I knew the Book of Mormon and thus the church were true. We lived across the street from Colmado González, which blasted salsa and bachata into our house deep into the night. As I prayed over the music, it was difficult to feel the still small voice of the spirit, yet I was also looking for a grand answer. It never came in that fashion.
Over the ensuing months, my testimony came piece by piece as I studied and testified of Jesus Christ, and His teachings contained in the Book of Mormon. I never received my aha moment of God, Jesus Christ, or the restored gospel. My testimony was given, bit by bit, in small cinder block homes of Vicente Noble. Because of that, this town will always have a special place in my heart.
