12. March 22, 2016 - Narrative

It was a typical frosty morning in the northern stretches of Antwerpen, Belgium. Clouds crowded the already-grey skies rejecting the sun from touching the concrete cobblestones and budding branches on the trees. We treated it like any other day, prepared to preach the gospel to all those prepared to hear it. We were studying together for the plans we had that busy Tuesday. My companion, Elder Lott, and I were the designated leaders for the 26 missionaries in the northern half of the country. We had little contact with anything south of us for the simple reason that crossing a provincial border instantly translated our surroundings into French. That was the domain for the Paris, France missionaries. This is why the phone call we received from the elders in Charleroi was a surprise from the moment it appeared on the screen. 9:00 am The president of our mission, President Bunnell, and his wife Sister Bunnell had obligations inside the Amsterdam International Airport to re-welcome an elder returning to the mission field. In 20 minutes, his flight would arrive and they would reunite with him shortly after. Nothing in the airport gave any sign of panic or warning; it was just another Tuesday morning full of travelers and tourists catching the scenes of Europe in the spring. Surely what our call would inform President Bunnell of would be the last thing on his mind. 9:30 am We were lucky to have two phones. As we learned of the attacks on Belgium's capital, Elder Lott and I listened intensely to the summary of events taking place in the Brussels International Airport. "There were two explosions," the unknown voice declared, "one right after the other and people began to run through the smoke for the doors." "How do you know this?" I asked. "Members just called us and told us everything that's happened," he replied, "Our zone leaders were supposed to be in the airport this morning. We can't get a hold of them. I'm sorry guys, but our president is calling, I have to go." The connection dropped silent. The missionaries under our direction were all home and studying, many of whom lacked any information about the terror attacks that claimed Brussels as a target. After confirming the safe welfare of each missionary, it was duty to inform President Bunnell with anything of such a nature. I dialed his number and he quickly answered: "Elders, I'm quite busy at the airport right now, I'll have to call you right back. Thanks." Before he could hang up, I interjected, "President, this is an emergency." One full second of silence on the other end was enough time for my mind to question whether he had hung up or was processing what I had just said. "What is it?" I finally heard in reply. I proceeded to relay the information I had about the attacks in Brussels. "Has no one in the airport alarmed anyone? You and Sister Bunnell need to get out of there now." I said, wondering where the courage had come from for me to speak to my mission president in such an assertive tone. "Will do, Elder Reese. Are our missionaries at home? Is there anyone harmed?" The next thing I would tell him would be one of the most bittersweet sentences to ever pass through my lips. "Our missionaries are at home and okay, but president..." I paused, "the zone leaders from the Paris mission were supposed to be in the airport this morning. No one can get a hold of them." I still remember that it was at that point, as I said it myself, that the impact of everything happening hit me like a shockwave. I remained composed while everything inside me was racing. President Bunnell informed me he would head straight home and contact the Paris mission president with all the information he could receive. He’d then relay orders to us and the missionaries located in Belgium. The connection broke off, and with it any physical interaction with countries outside. The national borders were locked down. 10:30 am We had decided to inform the missionaries in our zone of what was happening. Our fear was their fear, but the Spirit was present and the missionaries we contacted remained calm yet concerned. Not concerned for themselves, I must add, but for those involved, for the people they knew in Brussels, for each other. That was the first time all morning I felt the Spirit’s comfort. Elder Lott and I made our way to the church to watch news updates on the national crisis happening only 25 minutes away. Between BBC, the Flemish news, and an awoken CNN Los Angeles broadcast, we collected facts, names, and safety procedures taking place within the city we so dearly loved. A second bomb had been detonated inside a metro station near the European Union Headquarters, panicking many leaders nearby. The station was underground a street called Maelbeek - a station every missionary travels through on the way to verify their extended visa. The attack began to hit much closer to home that at first. Back in the states people slept in their beds, unaware of the crisis unfolding overseas. I sent a short email to my mother informing her of our well-being and for that of the missionaries within our zone of the mission. I had hoped she would contact other mission parents to let them know as they woke up. I had to tell her about the Brussels zone leaders who we could not contact. Undoubtedly, America would wake up to information about them if they'd been involved because both originated from Utah. I sent the email that would hopefully calm the hearts of many soon who would awake in terror. 1:00 pm President Bunnell had instructed all missionaries in Belgium to stay off public transportation and only work within close parameters of home. I personally believed that missionaries should be kept inside until further notice, but each of us dutifully labored for the Lord which proved most vital for His work at that point in time. Every so often Elder Lott and I would return to the church for updates from the United States Embassy as to what American citizens were to do. We nervously opened CNN only to see a headline that would humble us to our knees and be every parent's worst nightmare. It read: Mormon Missionaries among Injured in Brussels Attack. Our fears were confirmed. By this time, President Bunnell had a much better understanding of the situation than we did and we learned from him that no missionary had been killed, but all were severely injured. I still had no reply from home but hoped my family would see my email before turning on the morning news. It was 4 am where they were, enjoying spring break on the Oregon Coast. 6:30 am Pacific Standard Time My dad is an avid runner and constantly trains for his next marathon. That morning he ran along the beach, listening to LDS Conference podcasts while my mother was near Portland where she had grown up. Suddenly, the audio podcasts faded out to signal that he had received a message, but he kept running. Again, a message paused the podcast for a moment, but he pressed on. The third time, he was due to turn around and go back, so he stopped and checked the messages. "Have you heard from Trevan?" one read. "Is Trevan ok? Have you heard about the attack in Belgium?" said another. "We are praying it isn't Trevan, has he contacted you?" I can't imagine the feeling my father had at that moment. He quickly called my aunts who had sent the messages and was told everything at that spot on the windy beach. As quickly as he could hang up, he was on the phone with my mother, pressing her to check her email right away. I've thought about what it would have been like had I not sent that short message that morning. I've thought about how my family would have felt and the helplessness they would have been surrounded by. I've also thought about the people my mother contacted right away because of my message, comforting many parents who were in very dark, unknowing spaces. 2:00 pm, Antwerpen We put our knuckles to good use, just as most days as a European missionary. We knocked on doors and attempted to state our purpose through the soundtrack of blaring sirens flooding the streets behind us. This is doing us no good, I remember thinking, we need to be contacting our missionaries. But my thoughts were contrary to the will of the Lord at that time. After a few doors, we were greeted by a woman who took a keen interest in our badges. She asked if we were Mormons and as we confirmed her hunch, she immediately asked if our companions were okay. I couldn’t believe it. We told her we had had little contact and weren’t sure, but they were alive. She told us she had been watching the news in English and had seen the CNN report about the missionaries, hoping they would be protected as God’s men. Our conversation was solemn yet hopeful. Then it hit me. The Lord was using this horrific tragedy to further His work in Belgium. My perspective evolved at that moment and transcended the sorrow I had felt all day. I asked the woman if we could pray with her for those involved and their families. I was very used to inviting people to pray, but based on this woman’s reaction I could see that she hadn’t prayed in quite some time and that it hadn’t crossed her mind to do so. Perhaps out of surprise at my offer, she simply agreed and we prayed then and there for the welfare of our brothers and sisters. The Spirit resonated between the three of us and something celestial touched that woman’s heart that day. I know it, because it touched mine. The Lord was very aware of everything His children were going through. In the days that followed, Elder Lott and I visited the sister missionary who was in the airport as she was treated at a credible hospital in Antwerpen. Her testimony of the events was inspiring and many members came to visit her from our city. When asked by caretakers how she knew her visitors despite living in France, she bore testimony of Zion being a family – unbroken by language or culture. Hour by hour, missionary miracles were taking place within the Belgian borders as the Lord hastened His work through what was at first only a horrific tragedy. I learned of many more missionary opportunities that presented themselves at the expense of these terrible attacks. At home, people throughout the country connected to the American missionaries injured and were exposed to their stories – both of which bore powerful testimony of seeing good behind the bad. In the mission field, we continued to embrace people who feared such attacks would only increase. We taught them of God’s love and eternal plan which give them perspective and peace in a time or political turmoil. The traumatic attacks on Brussels catalyzed our successes and for the first time since fall, the sun began again to peek through the clouds.