I tend to be a person of extremes. I love something or I hate it. I am really good at something or I’m downright awful
at it. I work very hard or am very
lazy. There are very few middle of the
road areas in my life. My ability to
talk about and share my emotions falls into this category as well. If I’m over the moon about something
frivolous, you’ll know about it through multiple mediums. If I have a strong political opinion, you’ll
probably hear it. If I detest a product
or celebrity there will be a very public blog post about it. On the other hand if I’m upset about
something close to my heart, you’ll likely never know. If I’m upset at a close friend or family
member I’ll cover it up. In this same
respect, I haven’t shared with many people the long list of events that lead to
me deciding to serve a mission. I
believe now is as good a time as any to tell the whole story.
In September of 2011 I had just started my junior year of
college and was 20 years old.
I was
living with two of my closest friends and was loving everything about my
life.
I made a goal to attend
the temple
twice a month and started in mid-September.
While I was there I felt the urge to pray without knowing what to
say.
This isn’t normal for me; I usually
know what I want to converse with Heavenly Father about before I start.
I began my prayer and skirted through my mind
unsure of what topic to land on.
I never
really settled on anything and decided to end my prayer and read from the
Pearl of Great Price.
I was reading from the book of
Abraham about
The Creation when I had the strongest impression that I should serve a
mission.
This struck me as odd for two
reasons; first, nothing about the scriptural passage I was reading had anything directly to do with missionary work; second, I never ever ever wanted to
serve a mission (as badly as T-Swift never ever ever wants to get back together with whoever the other half of her we is).
There was a long line for baptisms that day so I had plenty
of time to ponder on my recent spiritual prompting. Having a topic to discuss with Heavenly
Father, I decided to pray again. We went around and around, He and I. I reminded
him that I didn’t want to serve a mission and that you should never serve a
mission if you don’t want to. He
countered by whispering that sometimes we don’t know what we want. I also
pointed out that I would be a terrible missionary—I hate talking about feelings
and don’t like approaching strangers. He
gently reminded me that we are qualified to do any task we’re asked to do. I rounded out my logical offense by letting
him know that I had student loan debt and therefore I couldn’t afford a mission
or a break from school. He quietly spoke
peace to my financial worries.
I left the temple and called my mom in tears and relayed my
experience. Naturally she was excited
because she, “always knew I would serve a mission!” I was discouraged, exhausted, and confused
after this experience and unsure what to do.
After all, I was only 20. I was still seven months too young to
serve a mission as girls still had to be 21 at this point in time to go forth and serve. I continued to read my
scriptures, attend my church meetings, go to the temple regularly, and really
ponder what I was supposed to do with my life.
I started to warm up to the idea of a mission as 2012 rolled around and
started to tell people I was planning on going on one.
Shortly after my 21st birthday I met with the bishop in my home ward, as I was home from college for the summer, and began
the missionary application process.
Throughout this entire endeavor I had severe anxiety, doubts, and
depression at the idea of going on a mission.
I never would have chosen to do this on my own. I tried very hard to convince myself that The
Lord knew what was best and that I had to do this, if only because my parents
were so proud of me for making the decision.
I completed everything for my application and was awaiting my call when
my stake president phoned me to let me know he had some news about my mission
call. My assignment hadn’t been made,
and wouldn’t be until I lost 15 pounds, bringing me to a healthier weight to serve
a physically demanding mission at. Having battled with my weight since childhood
I quickly became discouraged and started to doubt again why I was trying so
hard to do something that I never wanted to do in the first place.
A few weeks after this phone call I broke down on my way
home from camp for a weekend long break and called my friend/former
roommate. During the two hour car ride, she calmed me down and told me
that I needed to do what was right for me and if I felt that going on a mission
wasn’t right anymore then I shouldn’t do it.
I got home and didn’t get two sentences into a conversation with my mom
about my week at camp before I started sobbing and told her I didn’t want to go
on a mission. My parents still loved me
despite my disappointing news and I excitedly started to plan my return to BYU
at the end of August for my senior year of college. For the first time in almost a year I felt at
peace, though it was short lived.
I constantly battled feelings of inadequacy and guilt
throughout fall semester 2012. I felt that I
wasn’t worthy of any blessings because I should have gone on a mission. I felt alone and unloved and like a
disappointment to everyone who had been excited for me to go on a mission. These feelings subsided slightly when in
October the lower mission age was announced and I felt that I definitely wasn’t
needed in the mission field because zealous young men and women were submitting
mission paperwork left and right. By the
end of Christmas break in January of 2013 I was starting to believe that I was
forgiven for not serving a mission. I
went on to have the most fun and fulfilling semester I had ever had in college
and really began to believe that it was in The Lord’s plan for me to be at BYU
at that point in time, and not on a mission.
I did well in my classes, interned at a law firm, got closer to a recently acquired best
friend, and was getting really good at baking new things. Again I was at peace.
The semester ended and I got a new job and was working 50-60
hours a week to save money for the upcoming semester’s tuition and a June trip
to Disneyland. I was so busy I never had
time to think, but I randomly decided to set a goal to study Preach My Gospel every day for half an
hour. In the back of my mind I knew I
was preparing for a mission, but I really didn’t want to admit it to
myself.
The end of June rolled around and I set out on a vacation to
California with some friends of mine from college and a few friends of theirs’
from high school. For the first time in
months I had time to think. I still
don’t know how it happened, but on one of the last rides we rode at Disneyland
of the night I realized I wasn’t living my life according to Heavenly Father’s
plan. While floating through the fake
Pirate’s of the Caribbean village I suppressed tears and frustration. My friend miraculously sensed that my
attitude had abruptly changed, though I didn’t vocalize anything, leaned over
and quietly asked if I was doing okay.
In true Amanda fashion, I plastered on an authentic looking smile and
said, “Of course! I’m just tired—it’s
been a long day.” And it had been a long
day, we arrived at Disneyland before the gates opened and the park was about to
close at this point in time. He let it
go and I mustered enough energy to act happy long enough to get me to my hotel
room.
I ignored the prompting I received at Disneyland and went about my trip for a few more days. As I got into bed after a day in the exhausting heat at Seven Flags I decided I needed to pray about a mission. I waited until my friend fell asleep and
then quietly wept as I told Heavenly Father in defeat that I was tossing in my
towel. He was in charge now and I wasn’t
going to try to change His mind anymore. Despite the fact that our Inglewood neighbors were blaring mariachi music outside of my
hotel window, I felt the quiet, but clear voice speak to my heart; it was finally time for me to serve a
mission. As my weary legs throbbed from
my whirlwind day of tourism, my heart throbbed with them to the Mexican music's beat because I realized how
much faith it would require for me to actually go on a mission this time
around.
I woke up the next morning and instead of watching
television and resting like the others were doing, I snuck into the hallway to
call my mom. For half an hour I sobbed
as I told my mom about my revelation to serve a mission. How could Heavenly Father expect me to do something
I didn’t want to do? How could he expect
me to do something I was going to be so bad at?
How could he ask me to give up the life I had grown to love—the friends,
the new job at the rec center, the school? I got more than one
awkward stare as hotel patrons passed my hot mess of a self with my knees
pressed to my chest on the telephone with my mother. After comforting me for a few minutes she
finally told me to buck up; Heavenly Father doesn’t ask us to do things we
can’t do and he definitely doesn’t punish us for following His will (one of my
main arguments against serving a mission was that by the time I got home I
would be 24 and old by Mormon standards and clearly would never be
married. I truly felt like I was being
punished for something, but I wasn’t sure what).
Again I mustered enough strength to act like I was happy and
embarked on a day trip to the beach with my co-vacationers. This time I couldn’t control all the tears
and had to artfully hide them behind sunglasses in the very back row of my
friend’s mother’s car. As everyone
argued about which beach to go to, I tried to keep the tears rolling down my
cheeks to a minimum. We stopped at a
mall and I trailed behind the group a bit and sat down on a bench by myself as
one of our party stopped for a Jamba Juice.
The same friend who questioned me at Disneyland about my feelings
asked again if I was doing okay. I
actually responded truthfully and said I wasn’t. I briefly mentioned that I had decided to
graduate in December of 2013 instead of April of 2014 and put in mission papers
with an availability date of January 1, 2014.
I told him doing the right thing doesn’t always come easily and that for
the first time in my life I was having a hard time accepting that The Lord’s
idea of right differed greatly from my own.
At this our friends were ready to go and we headed back to the car and
set off for the beach. He smiled and
said things would work out and that a mission was exciting and then we both
acted like our exchange hadn’t just happened.
The second we got to Huntington Beach I separated from the group and
called my younger brother and cried openly among the strangers strewn on beach
towels and the horrid seagulls as I told him my news.
After this conversation I decided to quietly lie on the sand for a moment and gather myself so I could convincingly appear happy the rest of the
day. I went on to have a really great
time at the beach and successfully distracted myself the last 24 hours of our trip. Somewhere along the line my plan to graduate
in December leaked and I was met with questions that I successfully
avoided. I wasn’t ready to talk openly
about my new plan so I just always changed the subject.
I got back to Provo the first week of July and waited a few
weeks before I met with my bishop to start my mission papers.
To help with the flurry of feelings I was experiencing, a good friend gave me a blessing and I was promised a lot of beautiful things if I heeded The Lord's prompting. I had started coming around to the idea,
though I still had an emotional few weeks as I accepted what I needed to
do.
Around the end of August, amidst
other trials, I finally felt good about serving a mission.
I was excited and finally turned the most
important corner I’ve ever turned.
I
realized that The Lord has given me
everything
in life; the least I could do was give him
18 months AND be happy about it at the same time.
I changed my perspective and shared the most
sincere testimony I have ever shared during my bishop’s interview a few weeks
later.
I honestly told him that I wanted
to serve a mission because I had felt the power of Christ’s merciful saving grace in my
life and wanted to share that with others.
His atonement had picked me up when I was at my absolute lowest and
everyone deserved the knowledge that He would do the same for them.
I went on to tell him that the Gospel of
Jesus Christ is perfect, even though it is administered by imperfect
beings—myself being one of them—and that if someone was looking for it, it was
my duty to share it with them.
Tears
streamed down my face as I told my bishop that Christ has the power to soothe a
broken heart, as he recently had started to do with mine, lend understanding, offer
peace and love, and be the only person when no one else seems to be around. I shared that I don't understand The Lord's plan, but I know there is one and I knew I had to submit mission papers in accordance with this plan.
I told him I believed in Jesus Christ, every
living prophet we’ve had on this Earth past and present, and in the power of
the eternal family.
And I believed every
word I said and knew that that was why I had to serve a mission.
By the end of September I had once again completed all of my
paperwork, medical and dental visits, and interviews and was awaiting my
call. Having had a stressful second
semester of college that year I had actually lost about 20 pounds since the
first time I submitted my mission papers the year before and my weight wasn’t a
deterrent in me getting a call this time around. My attitude had also changed by October 9th,
the day I received my call to the Arizona Mesa Mission—literally the last place
on Earth I thought I would be called to.
At this point it had been over two years since I had first
been prompted to serve a mission. I grew
exponentially during that time and finally reached a point of clarity. I was never intended to serve a mission in
2012 when I first submitted my paperwork.
All along the plan was for me to serve the people of Mesa, Arizona from
January 29th, 2014 until approximately July of 2015. Heavenly Father, being the wise creator that
he is, knew it would take two years to soften my very hard heart and thus
planted the seed long before the harvest was required. In my lack of wisdom I automatically assumed I had to go right after I turned 21 instead of when The Lord needed me to enter the field.
Despite getting my assignment to Mesa, Arizona, of all
places, I was excited when I opened my call envelope and it all felt
right.
I went on to have a few doubts
throughout the semester and at times I still worry that I won’t make it to the
MTC on January 29
th, but I have the assurance of understanding The
Lord’s plan better now.
I also still
find myself worrying that every eligible bachelor will magically find himself wedded
by the time I return home at the ever-ancient age of 24, but I remind myself
that if I am to be single forever that is all a part of the plan, not a
bi-product of my mission’s timing.
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