When I decided to serve a full-time church mission*, I received very specific revelation concerning my role. It was something like this:

Your mission is to see that your companions are taken care of. You are to love them, to teach them, and to do everything that you can to ensure that their missions are a success. Forget your mission. Your mission is to prosper theirs.

The vision played out to perfection. In eighteen months I had a whopping 12 companions, and much of the revelation that I received during that time was about how to love, tolerate, serve, and learn from my them. Happy were the days when my response to the cold was to sew buttons onto their coats; when my response to grief was to pray for their comfort.

. . .

I’ve been home from my mission for five years, but the life lessons are playing on repeat. I heard this again today:

Your mission is to see that your companions are taken care of. You are to love them, to teach them, and to do everything that you can to ensure that their missions are a success. Forget your mission. Your mission is to prosper theirs.

. . .

It started with a bad morning. The embarrassing variety in which lays supine on the couch and covers face with blanket—not because one is sleepy but because one is distressed. There were things to be done, but I wished only for escape. Escape from technology, people, chores, expectations; in short, from sentient thought.

I was interrupted from my blanket cocoon when a neighbor asked for help. It was only something little (delivering fliers), but she stopped at the door and chatted, and our conversation gave me the chance to think of someone other than myself. I pulled myself out from the cozy grasp of the blanket, and once out I didn’t want to return.

From there I remembered a friend to text. I chatted with a sister. I baked muffins for my husband. I loved on my toddler the way only a mom can. And I was HAPPY.

Today I remembered what Heavenly Father said to me before my mission, and I saw that the truism applies to my mortal mission:

Your mission is to see that your companions are taken care of. You are to love them, to teach them, and to do everything that you can to ensure that their missions are a success. Forget your mission. Your mission is to prosper theirs.

I’ll be honest: sometimes I feel cheated by this purpose. It seems like everyone else gets cool acting parts, and I’m just here to help. No speeches, no praise, no applause? Why can’t I play a more central part, Father? Why can’t I do something that really matters? I have friends who have talent-laden, income-accruing, adventurous earthly missions… And I’m a stage hand.

And then I remember Jesus, and I feel honored that his role and mine are the same: