I was waiting in the lobby of the church with my companion when I saw them for the first time. I had been on my mission for a little more than a year, and I was expecting to meet my new companion, fresh from the MTC, in a couple of days. I was serving in the district containing the mission home, so my companion and I were sure to see the greenies a couple of days before everyone else.
“They” were a large group of ten or so missionaries, receiving a tour of the ward building from our mission president. Two of them caught my eye in particular. Both would later be my companions, although I didn’t know it at the time.
One was Elder Forsyth, whom I would train. He was a legit 6’10″, and stood out in a crowd. The other missionary who caught my eye was Sister Hintze. She was the only sister missionary in the group, and attractive as well. I found myself hoping that she would be assigned to my district.
A couple of days later, assignments were posted at the mission home. Elder Forsyth would be working in Mitaka with me, and Sister Hintze would be going to Machida, where I had spent six wonderful months earlier in my mission. I told her how lucky she was to be working in such a great area. I saw her occasionally at the mission home or at zone conferences, and Elder Forsyth spoke of her approvingly (he told me about all of the missionaries in his group), but I never really got to know her. Still, for some reason I found myself occasionally and somewhat irrationally regretting that I would never have the chance to work with her. I had a sense that I would have enjoyed being around her.
From Mitaka I transferred to Kunitachi, and I didn’t see Sister Hintze for a few months. The end of my mission was fast approaching. I figured I had one more transfer before the end, and with three months to go, I got the call. I was going to Hachioji. What’s more, so was Sister Hintze.
Over the next few weeks and months, I got to see what kind of a missionary Sister Hintze was. She seemed a bit unsure of her language ability, but she wasn’t shy about sharing the message of the gospel and she and her companion worked harder and achieved better results than the elders in the district. Her love for her investigators and her work were evident in everything she and her companion did. People liked her. She had a winning smile, a musical laugh, and the mood in the room lightened whenever she entered.
She wasn’t just a perma-smiling Molly Mormon type, though. Despite having grown up without any brothers, she could give as good as she got. On New Year’s Day, a day when the Japanese prepare highly elaborate and completely disgusting traditional foods, we were all invited to dine with a part-member family. We were offered some bizarre dish (I think it was those little fish that you eat whole, head, fins, tail and all). My companion, who loved a good prank, said, “Sister Hintze loves these!” and heaped a pile on her plate. She shot him a withering glare, and pinched his leg as hard as she could. Later in the evening, she took a large quantity of some equally unappetizing food and dumped it on my companion’s plate. When we arrived home at our apartment that night, he ran to the toilet and promptly regurgitated that which he had been forced to consume.
The more I got to know Sister Hintze, the more I realized that she was the model of the kind of woman I wanted to find for my wife when I got home. She worked hard and had a strong testimony of the Gospel. She was fun to be around. She read interesting books and had interesting things to say about them. She made others around her comfortable. She played the piano and music was important to her. She was beautiful, even in a denim jumper and with hair tousled by the wind after riding her bicycle. She was completely unpretentious, and didn’t spend any energy trying to impress people by pretending to be something she wasn’t. I wasn’t looking to get married soon after I got back home, and I had absolutely no hope that I would ever marry Sister Hintze, who was completely out of my league, after all, but I at least I knew what I was looking for.
I returned home from my mission and went back to BYU to finish my studies. A year later, Sister Hintze (er, Kristen, I mean) completed her mission and returned to her studies in Provo as well. A year after that I asked her out, and the rest, as they say, is history.
Happy Valentine’s Day, Kristen. And to all you elders out there, be nice to the sister missionaries. You may be married to one of them some day.
Some points and observations relating to this post that I couldn’t make fit:
I didn’t go on a mission expecting to meet my wife. I certainly wasn’t looking for one. But I found one all the same, or maybe she found me, or we found each other. And while I don’t recommend to missionaries to be on the lookout for potential mates while serving a full-time mission, there are certain advantages to the way that Kristen and I met that I am grateful for.
For one thing, we got to know each other in a situation where we weren’t trying to impress each other as potential mates. This isn’t to say that we were somehow our true and genuine selves; missionaries are guilty of posing and posturing like everyone else, but the layers of deception are fewer and thinner than in the dating world, I think. It’s pretty obvious who is and who isn’t serious about their work, no matter how good a game they talk. And we certainly weren’t trying to look good physically for each other.
We got to know each other at a time when we had committed our lives over totally to a work greater than our own selfish goals, which while not a perfect analogy to the marriage relationship corresponds in some respects more closely to the married ideal than one gets in more standard meet-and-date scenarios in Mormon circles.
We started our married life with a tremendous common base of experiences that we could build on.
The culture shock of marrying into a Japanese American family was greatly lessened for Kristen through her experience living in Japan.
And we actually enjoy hearing each other’s mission stories, instead of merely tolerating them.
Bryce, a nice Valentine’s story. My anniversary is also Valentine’s Day, and perhaps next year I’ll write a mushy story about my wife, the love of my life, my passion and my best friend.
I met my wife on my mission… they allowed dating on my mission… it was one of those more liberal missions you hear about.
I always heard rumors about Elders and Sisters getting secretly married……
Me, I was such a geek it didn’t matter. My zone leaders often openly flirted with Sisters, and 80% of the APs in my mission married sister missionaries from our mission within a month of returning home.
Of course, there was this guy in my high school who secretly married his girlfriend, and was going to go on a mission anyway (i.e. – lie to the bishop). He just wanted to make sure she’d be back when he got home. He got found out, though.
Nice story, well told, Bryce. Now we need to hear Kristen’s side of the story.
When I see my parents in a few days, I’ll have to ask them again to tell how they met, nearly 60 years ago, as missionaries in the Canadian Mission. (The difference in their story is that Mom returned home almost a year before Dad, their courtship proceeded by mail, and they were married one week after Dad finished his mission. And it’ll be 57 years in September!)
Maybe I was jaded by mission (what with a sister missionary tattling on me for having a cell phone, and sister missionary constantly teaching and baptising people from our areas and, yadda, yadda, yadda), but I vowed never to marry a returned missionary. I didn’t and I am sure glad I didn’t.
That being said, one of my trainers (my first left after two weeks) proposed to his wife (then a sister missionary) five days before both of them were finished their missions.
Geoff #2,
I hope that’s a story about one person, Geoff, and not about four! The list could be read either way, you know.
Kaimi, I told you SSM would lead to polyamory!
Great story, Bryce. So how about the Provo portion of the story? How did you get reconnected there?
Cool story Bryce.
Now I am ashamed for not telling my parallel story on Valentine’s Day, Bryce. On the other hand, I was a little too busy for blogging that day…