
23/09/2025
“Kyivskaya Street is a major road that cuts through Simferopol—the city I lived in for the entirety of my mission, as I never transferred. It’s also the setting for Part One of what I believe, without concrete evidence, is a two-part story.
Simferopol is the capital city of the Crimea, and although the entire peninsula is an East Europe tourist hub during the summer, the landlocked capital doesn’t attract as much traffic as beach resorts like Sevastopol, Yalta, and Sudak. Summers, then, meant hard work for full-time missionaries. The folks we were teaching left town for vacations, and with peak temperatures and humidity, there often weren’t many folks on the streets. It was all we could do, some days, to have full conversations with anyone other than fellow missionaries.
One hot, sticky Sunday, my companions and I passed hours attempting to find anyone to speak with. We kept to the main roads, hoping they’d have more foot traffic, and passed out one or two vizitki—small cards listing the Church’s name, plus the times and address of local worship services and English classes. On the back of each vizitka we had scrawled our names and phone number. On good days we could hand out stacks of vizitki; that day was not a good day.
Exhausted, but trying to keep the faith, I saw a pedestrian yards ahead on Kyivskaya Street. I silently promised God that if the woman didn’t cross the street before we crossed paths, I would invite her to church. I slipped a vizitka into my hand and watched the woman’s figure as she approached.
When she was still a bit ahead of me, I launched into my spiel. “Hello,” I called, already extending my hand with the card. But just as the words, “We would like to invite you . . .” came out of my mouth, I lost the air in my lungs, and my knees buckled.”
Read “D&C 109: Breaking Off Yokes of Oppression“ by on WayfareMagazine . org, and find more even resources for ways to think about the temple in the weekly Come Follow Me newsletter on faithmatters . org.
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