The Elton Missionary Dollar

In 1964 when I was 19 years old, I was preparing to go on a mission for my church. I had not originally planed on going but some extraordinary events had occurred in my life that convinced me that because of my belief in Jesus Christ, and having felt His closeness on many occasions, that I would be remiss if I didn't give something back. A mission seemed to me to be the perfect conveyance to accomplish this purpose. Soon after the decision was made, I received a call to serve in the Argentine Mission signed by David O. McKay.

Missionary farewells are a joyous occasion. We had three missionaries from our ward that were due to enter the mission home in Salt Lake City on the same day, so the ward turned out in large numbers along with family and friends. This was after church and many of the sisters had brought food and refreshments, so it was a wonderful time to visit and socialize. It was a special time to say goodbye to so many friends and to feel the wonderful love which we all had for each other. Many stories were told, hugs given, and tears shed.

While all this was going on, sister Witham, the mother of a very good friend of mine and former primary teacher, came up to me and asked if we could talk. She said some very nice things to me and said that she wanted to give me something to take on my mission to remember her by. She then handed me a Silver Dollar. We hugged, cried some, and I promised that I would never forget her or the kindness she had shown toward me over the many years I had known her while growing up.

Soon my new Missionary Dollar and I were on our way to the Mission Home in Salt Lake City where we spent a week learning to be a missionaries. Because I was to learn Spanish, I was then sent to Provo to attend the Language Training Mission where I spent the next three months learning Spanish. Finally the day arrived for me to leave the US and head for Argentina arriving there on January 3, 1965. I never told any of my companions or anyone else about my very special Missionary Dollar. I didn't carry it on me in fear of loosing it, but always kept it in a safe place. It was always there as a reminder of why I was on a Mission. It was a link to home and to the love that surrounded me there. It also provided me with a special kind of strength. Knowing that people back home had confidence in me gave me confidence. I never got homesick, because I knew why I was on a mission. But most of all when those times came when I needed that something extra that I didn't think I had, I was always able to find it.

I returned to the US and home in early January of 1967 having spent two years in Argentina. I remember getting home and unpacking. I had loved my mission and was so grateful that I had made the decision to go. Each item I unpacked had a wonderful memory attached to it, but nothing invoked more emotion than when I picked up my Missionary Dollar. We had shared all of it. Standing there in my old bedroom at my mom and dad's house, holding my Missionary Dollar tightly in my hand, I had an idea. If I was ever lucky enough to have a son, I would tell him of my Missionary Dollar and send it with him on his mission. Perhaps we could start some kind of tradition passing it on from father to son.

In 1971 my son Peter was born. Nineteen years later my Missionary Dollar was on its way with my son to England.

Last week Marion and I were at Pete's house to pick up Jack and take him to lunch. We were standing together at the bottom of the stairs, me, Pete, Marion, and Jack, when Pete handed me the Missionary Dollar and asked me to tell Jack about it and give it to him. Having been to Argentina and England our Missionary Dollar is now on its way, with Jack, to New Zealand.

LJE  Oct 2016