Janice Kapp Perry on senior missionary couples

From my seat in the choir, I was enjoying the reverence during the passing of the sacrament in our Provo, Utah, ward one Sunday morning in 2001. Glancing down at my husband, Doug, in the congregation, I felt a wave of gratitude sweep over me, both for him and for our peaceful, fulfilling life. We had had our share of trials, but still we had been blessed with a wonderful family, all of whom lived nearby; we loved our work and our ward; we enjoyed our lovely home and our cabin in the mountains; and were surrounded by loving friends. It was a comfortable life.

As I mentally counted my blessings, an impression of the Spirit interrupted my thoughts so suddenly it startled me. “You have a year to prepare, and then you need to go.” I hadn’t heard the word mission, but I was certain it was implied. We always knew we would serve a mission someday but hadn’t decided when. At 66, Doug was semi-retired and enjoying his hobbies. At 62, I was still actively writing music and enjoying life with our children and grandchildren. A mission still seemed a few years away.

Later at home I asked Doug if he had had any particular spiritual prompting during sacrament meeting, but he said, “Nothing unusual.” When I related my experience, he smiled and said: “That is the answer to my prayer. I’ve just been waiting for you to feel the time is right.” I knew our lives were about to change.

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