Mom and Dad wanted me out of the house. I was insecure and miserable. My absence was clearly welcome. The feeling was mutual. So just three months after I turned nineteen, I was sent off on a mission. I didn’t want to go yet. But my parents had prayed and they knew I should go immediately and looking back I agree completely (Looking back I disagree on many things, but this was really the best thing to do at the time.) I wasn’t worthy. I had violated one of the laws of the Church. But there was a lot of pressure and I felt forced to lie both to my Bishop and my Stake president in order to escape the shame of confessing what I had done.
A couple of weeks in the mission home, as I grew to really want to please God, my conscience grew more painful. Life went black; I could not go on. I confessed everything to the mission home president. He told me to forget it and go back to my studies. I had thought my sin serious enough to be sent home, but not to my president. Later I understood that it doesn’t matter how others consider sin. What matters is how the Holy Spirit considers it. For He and I, it had been very serious. I felt released and didn’t think about it anymore.
In the LTM (Language Training Mission) I had to have my wisdom teeth removed. I didn’t want any more teeth removed. I lost two molars to braces and now they wanted to take out four more. But it had to be done. I wanted it all over at the same time. So, they were going to pull all four. They gave me some anesthetic, but I prayed and asked that it not intoxicate me as other patients seemed under it influence. I didn’t want such a desecration of my body. The Lord did help; I was not affected by it as others had been. Even my companion, Elder Whipple, could tell that I was okay. Afterward I only took the pain pills for a couple of days and then stopped. I could handle the pain. I believe again that this was something the Lord did for me.
Most missionaries called to Indonesia went to other missions because of visa problems. In the LTM we were told that it was not likely we would end up in Indonesia. My companion, Elder Whipple, was concerned about it and prayed. He was told we would go to Indonesia. For some reason I knew he had heard from God and believed his feeling. But then we were told we would not go there. Everyone in the group was upset except me. Why did they doubt? I asked… ‘Your weird Castleton’ they said. They all knew my companion had heard from God. He had told them about his feeling. Therefore, we were certainly going. I was mystified especially when Elder Whipple himself doubted. A few days later we were told to pack our stuff, we were going to Indonesia, our visas had been granted. All the other guys celebrated, but I couldn’t join them. I watched them so excited. Someone asked what I thought. I said I didn’t understand all the excitement. Elder Wipple had already told everyone we were going. This latest information only told me when, not if, we were going. Again they said ‘Your weird Castleton’. I see now that no one else had listened to the inner voice and believed Wipple.
In the first few months of my mission, I discovered one problem. Many of my fellow missionaries had a ‘testimony’ of the Book of Mormon. They told me the Holy Spirit had told them it was true by an intense burning in their souls. I believed in the book, but this burning feeling hadn’t happened to me. So, I prayed to know by the power of the Holy Ghost that the Book of Mormon was true. I can only describe the answer, as a feeling which came over me saying, “You already know for yourself it is true.” I did experience a feeling of goodness and light when I thought about the ideas and doctrines within it. At the time, this answer seemed like a cop-out from getting the real Mckoy flaming testimony so many others have; but later I learned to apply the principle behind this experience to other books or words by anyone who seemed tuned to God. (Even my own writings). Learning to feel truth and sense worth has helped me find many important writings. Listening for the voice of Christ as one of his sheep has gradually changed me from being loyal and listening to only those of my own faith, to listening for any source of the light of God to see where it might lead me. I have found His testifying spirit working and teaching in every culture and religion; but not through everyone. I believe he does work in everyone: I’m just too blind to see it.
A year into my mission a companion of mine, Tolley, was sick and asked another missionary (not me) named Michael for a Priesthood blessing. He was blessed to get better soon. Mike was about to end the prayer when suddenly his voice shot up an octave. He then passed on a message he said came from the Lord. He said in a high strained voice, “The Lord wants you to know that all will be well with your grandmother. She will receive the gospel. You are not to concern yourself with her anymore.”
He finished and broke into sobs. Tolley hugged him till he stopped crying. Never had the Lord worked through Mike that way. It made me wonder. He didn’t know of my companion’s worries. Tolley spoke often about his grandmother. He wasn’t worried about his parents, also nonmembers; his concern was always his grandmother. I noticed how Mike resisted receiving the revelation. It’s a graphic example of how we receive the word of the Lord. The Lord would be more willing to talk to us if we tried harder to be receptive.
While I was serving in Jogya the members there were invited to go on an outing with members from Solo; where we rented a bus. It was crowded and I decided to stand at the front. As the bus bounced along their pothole roads, I looked back at all the members, most of them from Solo and felt love for them grow and shine within me. We sang hymns and by their smiles, I saw that the members felt the love too: it was tangible. Later at BYU I spoke with a man who told me that while he was visiting in Indonesia the members in Solo told him about me. I was surprised. I never served in their city. Why did they especially remember me? They must have felt that Godly love and associated it with me. But it was of God. I just happened to be there to experience it too.
In Semarang I met a girl about sixteen years old. I felt attraction for her, but she didn’t seem to notice me. In a dream she came and wanted me. I took the dream as a warning and left her and her family to the care of other missionaries. The day I was transferred to Surabaya, she came to see me very anxious to get my home address. That was when I knew the dream was true. I’m glad I followed its direction.
In Surabaya I was in charge of the money we pooled to pay for utilities and food. We had a cook named Dorchah. She not only cooked but always arranged and decorated our meals. Often there were treats for dinner we hadn’t paid for. I liked her in spite of her sharpness with me. When I met with her to pay her, I gave her the money and then asked her about her transportation expenses. A year before the Elders lived so near her house and the market that transportation cost her nothing. But now we lived far from her home. I asked her the costs of her daily routine: going from her home to the market, from market to our house, and home again. She told me and I timed the figure by six days and that by four weeks. I arrived at a figure twenty percent higher than what we paid her. She lost money working for us. She was embarrassed and left in a hurry. I told the other missionaries. Most of them refused to pay her more. Told me to let her quit if she wanted. I gave her more from my own pocket. Later she told me that she wasn’t from the servant class. Her family were well off. She told them that she was head of our cooking staff.
That wouldn’t have been so remarkable if it hadn’t been the fulfillment of a dream I had in Bandung a year and a half before. Servants working for the missionaries had stolen cameras and other valuable items. The guard of the church building knowing it was never used on certain days rented it out those days to some whores. I got to the point where I didn’t want any servants. Then I had a dream of a servant who went the extra mile for the missionaries. In the dream I met to pay her and when I realized she lost money working for us; she became embarrassed. It was exactly what had happened with Dorchah. Even the coffee table over which we met was black, just like the one in the dream.
Near the end of my mission, I felt happy with my successes. I was proud of myself, though I was never more than a senior companion. Again, I was bothered by the question whom I shall marry, and again I prayed about it. I was told I wasn’t worthy of her. It was a rebuke I needed to hear. I redoubled my efforts to be an effective missionary and worked harder at righteousness than ever before. I wasn’t always successful. My bike was stolen in the last weeks of my mission. Being without my own transportation created frustration with other elders.
This isn’t a testimony about Mormonism. I don’t want these things taken to set up more barriers between Mormonism and other religions. I am fully aware that there are missionaries from other faiths that could tell spiritual circles around my little Mormon experience. I’ve no doubt their stories are inspired of God. All religions find instances of the Holy Spirit blessing their members. This should cause every congregation to rejoice and bring them closer to loving one another. But we use the riches of God to divide: building barriers made of doctrines and testimonies of the Spirit to keep members of one religion from becoming one with those of another. Rich spiritual experiences could have happened to me just as easily if I had been Baptist, Moslem, or Hindu. Mormons espouse more than their share of barriers including the Word of Wisdom, Temple rites and their thoughtless rejection of the cross as a symbol of God’s love. Seeking unity in love for one another asks some flexibility and tolerance. Mutual denial is not a part of this love.
Serious doubts can be raised about the Book of Mormon: there’s good reason to believe it’s fiction. But my testimony remains the same; it’s not dependent on the things described in that book being fact, nor its doctrines being true. It’s the book’s love of God and righteousness that place it firmly in my heart. Fiction or not it’s a good book for all. Is it reasonable to ban a book because your competitor espouses it, or because it differs with your beliefs? All Christian, Moslem, Hindu and Buddhist holy books and books by Annalee Skarin, Thoreau, and several others are included in my life. (The greatest being ‘A Course In Miracles’ By Jesus Christ; but more on that later.) God clearly expresses His will in many great writings and religions. No matter its disguise, to the degree we reject truth; we reject God.
Because of my mission, I feel indebted to the Lord for all the changes in my heart and mind. True love seeks no return on its offering: nothing is required of me by God for what He’s done. Regardless, I want something from the Lord I can take back to Indonesia and say, “This is for all the love that you showed me. It shows the Lord is real and loves you.” In spite of the years, that desire has never faded. I know I have something yet to do; there’s an ache that’s never satisfied. With the exception of a few experiences, I have little to show for all the good that has been done to me.
I never experienced homesickness until I came home. Suddenly I was drowning in the troubles which filled my parent’s home. Blaming does no good; life’s a packaged deal. This part of the package was painful. My knees met the floor often seeking help for the stress and pressures which were being applied to me. That help came readily. I often felt guidance, strength, and the wisdom to be silent. Dreams came, which however fanciful, brought me peace. I became peripherally aware of a place of joy, peace and the glory of God. As time passed this grew more real. During times of greatest pain, I missed it as if I had once lived there. I believe I did.
My sister Sydney and I were close. The force of her incredibly strong will drew me to her. When we were young dad sometimes threaten to spank us if we didn’t stop crying when he thought we should. This was to insure we weren’t manipulating him or mom with our tears. But sometimes dad was a trifle early with his threat as Sydney pointed out to him when she was only four.
Dad threatened her, “Sydney, if you don’t stop this racket right now, I’m going to give you something really worth crying about.”
Sydney hardly noticed, so Dad continued, “If you don’t stop before I count to ten, I’m going to spank your little bottom.” He started to count and at first, she really tried to stop but as he neared the last two numbers she cried harder out of fear.
Dad walked towards her, “Sorry but you’ve forced me to do this. Stop now or else!”
Suddenly my spunky sister cried out, “I would stop, if I could!”
I was afraid for her, but for the first time dad backed away from punishing a child and left her alone. I was proud of Sydney. No one had ever talked back that way to dad and got away with it. But she was right: he knew it, and said no more.
In a dream Sydney was kidnapped by her former fiancée who ran a large fishing boat. He apparently didn’t take rejection well. He was going to keep her and rape her. I found the man’s boat; caught someone working on board and put a knife to his throat telling him I didn’t want to hurt him, but I had to know where I could find his captain and my sister. My persuasion worked and I left him. The dream ends as I come upon the captain and Sydney. I feel bad because I’m sure I will have to kill him to keep him from troubling Sydney again.
I believe coercion, in all of its forms, especially when used on children, is not of God. We respond well to love, badly to control. True love is all God offers. To become like Him, we must do the same.
Right after my mission, Brandt and I were going to Aberdeen, a 25-minute drive. I had relearned to drive on the right side of the road. (It was quite a thrill for those riding with me when I forgot.) I was so full of strong feelings from my mission and for my family that I was rather quiet. Brandt was talking incessantly, rudely interrupting my thoughts and demanding attention. I was irritated, his talk forced me away from my pondering. He kept messing with the radio, before I knew what I had done, I slapped his hand away from it. I was horrified at the instinctive and sudden violence of my act. After a moment of silence Brandt turned to me saying, “Well, I guess you’re really back from your mission.”
I was mortified. Most other return missionaries do go back to their former selves after a few months. But what I had been was too terrible to return to. Was I headed back to hell? I was frightened. I prayed a lot about the problem. I’ve never again struck an adult. I think it’s an inner strength the Lord gave me. I’ve been struck and shoved and the fist of an angry man cracked my jaw, but I’ve never returned violence. Attack and most forms of defense deny ourselves God’s peace.