Lds Mission Presidents 2025

So, you want to know about the LDS Mission Presidents for 2025? Buckle up, because this isn’t your typical church newsletter. We’re talking about a group of people who voluntarily agree to run a giant, spiritual summer camp for 18 months—only the campers are young adults with phones, and the camp director has to answer to heaven.

Who Are These Glorious Gluttons for Punishment?

First, a mission president is a married couple (the president and his wife) who leave their cushy jobs, sell their homes, and move to places like Bangkok, Boise, or Brazil. They do this not for a paycheck—because there is none—but for the privilege of managing a bureaucracy that includes lost luggage, pimples, and homesick elders who think “sacrifice” means no Spotify.

The 2025 batch is especially wild because the Church is sending them to record numbers of new missions. Imagine 4,000 young missionaries suddenly dumped into a city, and some poor president has to figure out where they’ll sleep. Spoiler: it’s often in a church gym, on air mattresses that smell like crayons.

Surprising Fact No. 1: They Have to Do Laundry

You think a mission president spends all day pondering scriptures? Wrong. One 2025 appointee, a former CFO of a Fortune 500 company, told me his biggest shock was unclogging toilets at 2 a.m. after a missionary ate too much local street food. “I used to manage billions,” he sighed. “Now I manage a plunger.”

Another couple from Utah had to learn how to cook 50 pounds of rice in a single pot for a zone conference. The wife later admitted, “I set off the fire alarm. Twice. The missionaries thought it was a drill.”

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Surprising Fact No. 2: They’re Given the Keys to a Minivan

The Church does not mess around with transportation. Each new president is handed a brand-new Toyota RAV4 or a Corolla—and told to drive it through potholes the size of craters. In 2025, one president in the Philippines had to navigate a road that was literally a river. He called it “baptism by puddle.”

And don’t even get me started on the missionary scooters. In France, a president recently had to rescue an elder whose scooter got stuck in a vineyard. The elder was fine; the scooter was not. The president now carries a crowbar at all times.

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Surprising Fact No. 3: They Have to Be Cheerleaders

Picture this: a 55-year-old accountant with a bad knee screaming “YOU CAN DO IT!” at a missionary who just got rejected by 12 people in a row. That’s the job. The 2025 presidents are trained in emotional first aid—basically, handing out ice cream and telling 19-year-olds that “no” is God’s way of saying “try another apartment complex.”

One president from Arizona packs a costume trunk for zone conferences. He once dressed as a llama to teach about humility. His wife wore a sign that said “I’m with the llama.” The missionaries, of course, loved it. That’s the secret—you have to be a little bit nuts to love this job.

The Big Takeaway

So the next time you meet an LDS mission president from 2025, buy them a coffee (or a soda, you know the rules). They left boardrooms and backyards for a life of unclogging toilets, driving through rivers, and wearing llama costumes. They are, without irony, the bravest, weirdest, most wonderful humans on Earth. And they’d tell you the same thing: “It’s not a job. It’s a divine comedy.”