I have seen that quite a few of my favorite bloggers have a background in journalism. I do too. I rarely utilize my writing skills when posting. With this in mind, today's post will be longer than usual, but I do have a story about the ins and outs of making a certain life decision.
It starts when I was four or five years old. We often had the missionaries over for dinner. On a particularly warm day, I was splashing around in the pool while the missionaries ate sandwiches and drank punch on the back porch. I loved the missionaries. They challenged me (and offered a King Size Snickers bar) to memorize Joseph Smith's account of the First Version. And so, I did. I remember telling them that, one day, I too would be a missionary.
At six, my oldest brother left on his mission to Sacramento, California. I sang, "I Hope They Call Me On A Mission" at his farewell. This was repeated a year later when the next brother left to San Bernardino, California.
Life happened. Major changes. Moved across the country to Utah. New friends. Opportunities.
In 2005, I was watching General Conference with my mom and told her I thought my sister was going on a mission, which she had never mentioned. That afternoon, she told us that she had decided to serve. We picked her up from Santiago, Chile in 2007. It was an incredible experience, and I wanted to be like her.
I graduated high school and headed south to attend SUU. My freshman year, I took a Preach My Gospel course that was taught by a newly returned sister missionary. I fell in love with the manual. I remember telling everyone, "In 18 months, I can serve a mission!" I couldn't wait.
The idea stayed with me, but I decided to focus first on school. The summer before I turned 21, I fell in love. And I fell hard. I was going to marry him (I thought). When his mom asked (4 months prior to my birthday), "Have you ever thought about serving a mission?" I felt disheartened. Did she not want me to marry her son?
2 months later, we broke up. Suddenly, everyone was asking the same question: "Are you going on a mission?"
My answer? A resounding: NO. It wasn't for me. I wanted to graduate. I wanted to get married and have a family. I went to Spain and studied abroad. That was my "mission" I said to myself. I had been able to help people in Cedar City. I had served in three Relief Society presidencies. That was my mission, I repeated.
The option came to graduate a year early. I didn't know what path to take once graduation came, and a mission kept entering my mind as an option. No, no, no. I already decided that I didn't want to go just because it hadn't worked out with the boy. Scared to graduate without set plans, I added a minor and opted to stay in school.
We're now entering fall 2012. At this point, three best friends from high school were serving missions. They all seemed so sure about their decisions, and I remember saying, "I'm happy for you ... but that's not how I feel for me." I would build a 10-foot wall anytime someone asked if I was going to serve. I became tense whenever compliments were given after teaching or giving talks regarding how I'd "be such a great missionary."
Yet, a certain phrase from my cousin's farewell talk kept entering my mind. She was the closest of my friends to leave, and I couldn't escape the words she had spoken. She said, "His will had become MY will. I will go and do because I know."
The words hit me that Sunday like a heavy weight. Tears flooded my eyes and my heart started to burn. Was I really being that stubborn? I hadn't bothered to ask if it was right. I didn't want it to be the right answer, so I avoided it at all costs. Heavenly Father can't be mad at me for making good decisions, right? But there was something deeper than that — I knew I wouldn't be in the wrong by not serving ... but I had a testimony. I knew it was true.
As future plans panned out, I knew jumping into a career or applying to grad school was not something on my immediate horizon. They were both good things. But I kept thinking of something that could be better, for me. Something that I wouldn't regret if I did, but might regret if I didn't take the leap, make the sacrifice, and trust in the Lord.
My decision would be made during conference. When President Monson announced the age change, I began to cry. The change didn't enable me to go — I was one month away from turning 22. But, I kept thinking, "If I could have gone at 19..." and then realized, "But, I can still go now."
By Thanksgiving, my papers were turned in. Three weeks later, I received my call to the New York, New York South mission (and speaking Spanish, which was my minor). I was to report 17 weeks later, though my availability date was a mere week away. I could write an entire blog post about that.
But, I will say that though it has been incredibly tough, discouraging, and frustrating at times, I am now less than six weeks away from entering the MTC as a full-time missionary (time is finally flying). I have had
Then I remember that Satan works hardest in our times of self doubt. If my darkest days were a representation of Satan trying to stop me (because he knows I will be helping a greater cause), I'm excited for whatever the next 18 months bring.
And there you have it.
It wasn't an easy decision or a quick process for me.
But, sometimes that's the way life was intended. There are jumps and loopholes, twists and turns. And somehow, all of the little back alleys we had to take to get to the road we needed to be on, don't seem so bad ... because there is something even better ahead.
