The Most Important Things

During my tenure as a missionary in Chile, I enjoyed a number of responsibilities and duties. For the latter half of my mission, my companions and I took charge of preparing and setting up venues for interviews between the Mission President and us missionaries. We marked these interview dates in our planners with great anticipation. These were brief, but unique, opportunities for significant and meaningful personal improvement. This being the case, my companions and I took our responsibilities very seriously.

During the winter of 2009, while serving in the city of Villa Alemana, the Mission President again planned a trip to our zone for interviews. On the morning of the interviews, we woke up earlier than usual to leave sufficient time to prepare the local chapel where we would meet. Prior to leaving our small house, I packed my shoulder bag; one personal set of marked scriptures, one study journal for notes, one standard issue “Predicad Mi Evangelio” manual with personal notes, one Nikkon camera containing 18 months of mission experiences in photo, some proselyting material, and some family photos that I would show to my Chilean friends.

I usually did not pack so much. I always left my personal manual and journal in our apartment since they served no purpose in day-to-day missionary work. They were large, and cumbersome; barely fitting into my shoulder bag. But I needed them for the interviews. In their pages, I would record my impressions and the counsel given to me by the Mission President. Prior to the Villa Alemana interviews, I had already compiled eighteen months’ worth of impressions, experiences, studies, and observations. These hand-written records were methodically organized into a system of colors, highlights, and cross-references. I considered my collection special, even sacred. They only left our apartment for interviews or conferences.

Once packed, my companion and I left our apartment and headed towards the chapel. We would have to walk about four blocks to reach it, but that didn’t bother us. Unlike my family, who was enduring sub-zero temperatures in Canada, I was enjoying the warm summer weather of central Chile. We hustled to the chapel, opened the doors and began setting up chairs and tables for the missionaries. In minutes, we had two rooms prepared; an open waiting room for the missionaries and the Mission President’s wife, and a separate secluded office for the personal interviews with the President.

Just prior to the Mission President’s arrival, we recognized the need for one more table. The Mission President’s wife usually brought some treats to feed the missionaries during the interviews, and we needed a place to put the food. Without much thought, I placed my shoulder bag on a hallway pew and went down the hall in search of another table. In a matter of minutes, we found a suitable table and hauled it towards the waiting room.

At last satisfied with the arrangement of the room, we went to gather our stuff and wait patiently for everyone to arrive.

I returned to the pew, but my bag was gone. Thinking that I misplaced it, I retraced my steps, passing every room I had entered. I still found nothing. Unnerved, I asked my companion if he had moved the bag. He replied that he did not. With increasing annoyance, I revisited the rooms along the hall. Again, I found nothing.

My annoyance converted to frustration. At the time, the only other person in the building was a member of the local stake presidency. He left his office to see what the matter was. I explained my predicament, hopeful that he would know the whereabouts of my bag. I described the bag to him as a simple black bag with one single strap, the top was slightly faded due to prolonged exposure to the sun.

He began to explain that he had not seen the bag, but he abruptly left his sentence unfinished. With some apprehension, he then recalled seeing an unknown man enter the building. The man confessed that he intended to use the bathroom. The member of the stake presidency signaled towards the nearest bathroom, and returned to his office. He never saw the man again.

My heart sunk with the realization that the man had no intention of using the bathroom. With equal parts anger and distress, I sprinted out of the chapel. Looking down both streets, I could see no sign of the man or my bag. All I could see was a busy street of cars and buses. He was gone.

All at once, a flood of loss and hurt entered my heart and mind. Eighteen months of personal experiences in the form of notes, photos, markings, and writings were gone in an instant. Those were experiences that I could never relive. Worse than that, those were experiences that I would never remember, at least not as vividly as the moment in which I recorded them. Accounts of personal experiences, happy experiences, sacred experiences… gone.

That was the single worst day of my two year mission. As much as he tried, my Mission President could offer little comfort. The police officer to whom we filed the case offered even less comfort. I attempted to hide my fury with a degree of humor, verbally hoping that the criminal might learn something useful from my notes and scriptures. But no amount of humor could soothe the ache I felt in my heart. I was downright miserable.

When the day had ended, the sting from the theft remained. My mind whirled with angry thoughts and vindictive ramblings. Vainly, I pictured myself chasing down the perp and tackling him hard into the gritty cement walkway. As one would expect, those “only-if” thoughts accomplished nothing. I retired to my bed knowing that sleep would likely avoid me.

My prayers that night turned desperate. I knew there was virtually no chance I would ever see my things again. By now, the perp likely removed the camera, ignorantly throwing everything else away. Finding anything else would be impossible if not miraculous. I miracle I needed, so a miracle I requested.

“At least the most important things!” I remember pleading repeatedly. “The most important things.”

My thoughts turned back to my journal, my scriptures, and my manual. I could see their pages, filled with notes, color coded and neatly printed and arranged. I put hundreds of precious study hours into reading, writing, and linking thoughts, words, and ideas. My recordings were important to me since they represented my personal growth and understanding as a missionary. That didn’t matter. They were gone, and I would have to move on. I grudgingly ended my prayers, and accepted my misfortune.

Pushing the event out of my mind, I worked to replace the items. I obtained a new camera, a new set of scriptures, a new manual, and started a new study journal. In the following weeks, I would struggle to remember my notes and thoughts from the months of my mission long past. That work consumed every hour I had available outside the regular missionary schedule. I began to put the ordeal out of my mind. Our proselyting schedule, interviews, district meetings, leadership training, and zone conferences prevented me from entertaining more thoughts on the matter.

A few months later, at the conclusion of another multi-zone conference, I sat in a hallway with my fellow missionaries. We were taking advantage of a few precious minutes socialize before we had to leave for our assigned wards and branches. From the crowd of parting missionaries, one companionship approached me. While I knew many missionaries in our area, I did not know these two. I only recognized them from one of the workshops from the conference. Their clean unseasoned suits perfectly contrasted my worn and weathered suit, indicating that they were relatively new to the mission field.

The taller of the two reviewed my name-tag, seemingly pleased that he had found me.

“Hey Elder Gulbranson!” he greeted. “So good to finally meet you.”

I returned their greeting and started into a small conversation. They answered my casual questions with hurried purpose. The only things I could learn were their names and that they were serving in one of the most rural zones in our mission. After that, the taller one interjected.

“I think we have something of yours.” He explained, lowering his backpack to the floor.

I watched curiously as he bent over and rummaged deep into his bag. He promptly removed a grocery bag from deep inside his back pack. I could tell its contents were small. My first impression was that one of my former companions had sent his trainee on a delivery errand. This was a common means of forwarding gifts, ties, or other items between missionaries. What he removed was something entirely unexpected.

He placed in my hands a small binding with laminated pages. The cover boasted a proud red Canadian maple leaf. The pages I thumbed were rounded and worn, but they perfectly preserved the contents of the booklet. From the pages, familiar faces smiled back at me; unblemished images of my mother, father, brothers, sisters, nieces, and nephews. These were the exact photos that I had lost in my stolen shoulder bag.

“Found these in our ward boundaries.” the Elder continued. I don’t think he was expecting my reaction of stunned silence. After all, they had no idea what circumstances led to the displacement of these photos. For all they knew, I left them on a bus, or with a close Chilean friend who misplaced them. Due to time constraints, I would not have adequate time to explain the entire ordeal to them.

When I inquired about the other missing items. They explained that they saw nothing else near the photos. I released a minor sigh, but remained grateful and stunned. With that, those Elders began their long journey back to their ward, and we soon followed.

My stolen photos.

Leaving the chapel, I happily reviewed the photos again and again. I did not put them away until our bus arrived to pick us up. I marveled at the luck of it all. They somehow made their way along many miles of roads and railways and through a handful of cities and towns. Their journey ended at the furthermost corner of the Vina Del Mar mission where they were found by a pair of strangers with whom I had only a slight connection.The happenstance was remarkable.

“Pity they found nothing else.” I lamented silently, returning my thoughts again to the remaining items.

With that thought, my memory was brought back to that night, back to the prayer that I offered: “At least the most important things!”

The words pierced my conscience, repeating themselves over and over. The realization immediately humbled me. With the divine wisdom that only a loving Heavenly Father could possess, He reminded me of the significance of family above all other things. Indeed, the most important things were returned to me. Cameras can be replaced, notes can be restored, and memories can be recalled; but one cannot adequately value the influence and blessing of an eternal family.

My miraculous experience further cemented my belief that families are central to a happy and fulfilling life. No other institution, organization, or assembly can imitate its influence, replicate its success, or supplant its sovereignty. Within my family, I have found friends, mentors, comforters, counselors, scholars, nurturers, protectors, motivators, admonishers, encouragers, and supporters. 

These roles have been filled by grandparents, parents, siblings, and even the youngest nephews and nieces. Starting from birth, many of us have belonged to a loyal network of individuals who serve dutifully and love unconditionally. Is it any wonder why the family remains the most fundamental unit in a healthy and vibrant society?

My miraculous experience further cemented my belief that families are central to a happy and fulfilling life. No other institution, organization, or assembly can imitate its influence, replicate its success, or supplant its sovereignty. Within my family, I have found friends, mentors, comforters, counselors, scholars, nurturers, protectors, motivators, admonishers, encouragers, and supporters. Together, individual members of a family create an unwavering association whose sole requirement for membership is to be born into existence. Our birth initiates us into a loyal network of individuals who serve dutifully and love unconditionally.

In some circumstances, many individuals may not enter this life with such blessings. Some boys start their mortal life without a mother’s warm embrace. Some girls begin their life deprived of a responsible father. Certain conditions and situations may unfairly deny a child of their right to a loving father and mother. While such injustices fall upon the most undeserving, they do not condemn them to a life devoid of all family blessings. A child may recover any lack of familial comfort as they marry and establish their very own family. In the end, all of us will have the opportunity to enjoy the benefit of family bonds, if we so choose.

Since the family group is made of a collection of individuals, there will no doubt be individual weaknesses. A number of quirks, habits, or eccentricities exist in every family unit. But if you look closely, you will detect trace elements of divinity, charity, and celestial potential inside each and every parent, sibling, spouse, and child. To omit any single individual from the family would dramatically alter our happiness. Big or small, fast or slow, refined or rugged, all members matter.

We would do well to remember more often the things that matter most; the most important things. Mortal limitations and imperfections frequently distract us, sometimes making us impervious to the most important things. However, if we maintain our eternal perspective, we will not lose sight of what matters most.

When you find yourself mired in struggle or weighed down in sorrow, I hope such events stir your thoughts to a remembrance of the most important things. I hope you know to which source you may look for understanding, charity, and love. I know that family plays an essential role to our existence, and that role will not be undermined. I have testimony of these truths due to a loving Heavenly Father who promises us all that He has. His Son, our Heavenly Brother, paved the way for our lasting happiness. Our family, both earthly and heavenly, are the most important things.