As a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, serving a full-time mission had always been an possibility when I was envisioning what my early twenties would look like.
SO WHAT IS AN “LDS MISSION” ANYWAY?
For those unfamiliar with what serving an LDS (Latter-Day Saint) mission means, basically, young men and women in my church have the opportunity to volunteer up to two years of their lives and serve as full-time missionaries. Those who wish to go complete an application process of sorts, and the leaders of our church seek revelation from God to issue each and every one of us a “call”. This call includes a timeframe, typically 18 months for women and 24 months for men, a geographic location, an assigned language, and a date to report to a Missionary Training Center (MTC). If you choose to accept this call, you agree to give all of your time and talents to the service of God for the duration of your mission. You move away from your family and friends, agree to live to a specific set of rules and standards, and spend all of your time and energy serving those around you and, more importantly, sharing the Gospel of Jesus Christ with anyone who will listen to you.
When I was growing up, young men became eligible for application to serve a mission when they turned 19 years old. Young women became eligible at 21 years old. In October of 2012, the ages of eligibility were changed to 18 years old for young men and 19 years old for young women.
DECIDING TO SERVE A MISSION AND RECEIVING MY CALL
I was fifteen years old when the eligibility age for women was lowered from 21 to 19. My plan had always been to serve a mission at 21, assuming that I wasn’t in a committed relationship or married by that point. I also hadn’t really worried all that much about it because it was still six years in the future and I had plenty of other things to worry about before then. When the age was lowered, however, suddenly serving a mission became a reality. I would be eligible to go just one year after graduating high school.
When it comes to serving a mission, those who are considering going are strongly encouraged to pray about their decision, and receive personal revelation from Heavenly Father about what they should do. I did this and I received a very clear and strong impression that serving a mission was the right thing for me to do.
I fought that answer, hard. I didn’t want to give up a year and a half of my life, miss out on college experiences with my friends, miss out on chances I might have with boys and dating, etc. I was terrified to follow the direction I had received. But I knew that I needed to go, so I lined my life up to do so.
I graduated high school in the spring of 2015. I spend that summer working and then moved to Logan to attend Utah State University for a year while I waited to turn 19 in the spring of 2016. I absolutely loved USU and loving it there so much made wanting to leave even harder. I submitted my papers in January of 2016 and received my call to serve in the California Sacramento Mission. I was called to preach the gospel in the English language and told to report to the Provo MTC on June 15, 2016.
I struggled with my mission call at first. I had had a feeling that I would be called to serve in a foreign country or at least in a foreign language, so an English call to California didn’t fit in my vision of my mission, but by the time June had finally arrived, I was incredibly excited to serve and live in Sacramento. By the time I left, I knew that the California Sacramento Mission was where Heavenly Father had designed for me to go. I had found this peace and acceptance through a lot of prayer and a lot of temple attendance.
MY TIME IN SACRAMENTO
After a brief two and a half weeks in the MTC, I flew to Sacramento on the Fourth of July. I met my mission president and his wife, President and Sister Jardine, and my trainer, Sister Brown, for the next twelve weeks. I was assigned to labor in an area called Laguna Creek, serving both an English ward and the Chinese group.
I served in the Laguna Creek area from July of 2016 until November of 2016. I had two companions in that area, Sister Brown and Sister Cundick, and I was flourishing. I loved teaching people about the Gospel of Jesus Christ, I loved getting to know the members of the ward, I loved biking around California, I loved it all.
In November I was transferred to an area called River Park that covered a much larger geographical area and included all of downtown and midtown Sacramento. I was intimidated to move from my friendly, little area to the city section of my mission, but I was also kind of excited. I spent my first two transfers (six-week periods) in that area with Sister Sessions.
I had a slightly rocky start in the area, but after meeting the most wonderful people in the ward and getting the chance to teach and love a woman named Melinda, I felt more at home in River Park than I had in Laguna Creek. I was very surprised, believe me.
In the end of January 2017, Sister Sessions left River Park and I was called to train a missionary coming straight out of the MTC. I was crazy nervous to have so much responsibility, but I knew that I was supposed to be on that mission, in that area, and that whoever the Sister coming from the MTC was, she was meant to be my companion. Her name was Sister Koller and I loved her. Sometimes it felt like we were two halves of the same person.
The happiness and purpose that I had felt so far in my mission was nothing compared to the fire that we had together in the River Park area. We were biking every day, we were talking to everyone we met, we were being obedient, we were finding success, and we loved being companions. That was, without a doubt, one of the happiest times of my life.
MY INJURY
On Monday, March 20, 2017, our zone had organized an activity for P-Day. We all met at a park in Sac that had a soccer field and played soccer together. After a few rounds of soccer, most of the other Elders and Sisters decided that they wanted to start a game of capture the flag. I am not very athletic and soccer had tired me out, but I joined to even out the teams. About 5-10 minutes into the game, I was chasing after another Sister who had stolen our flag, trying to tag her. In a freak accident, as I was running, my foot planted, my body kept moving, but my right knee twisted to the side underneath me. I heard a loud popping noise and the pain in my knee dropped me to the ground instantly. It took a few seconds for anyone to realize that I was hurt, but once they did, all the Sisters ran over to check on me. A firetruck happened to be cruising by and called out the window if we needed help. Someone yelled “Yes!” and the firefighters ended up carrying me to the Sister Training Leaders’ car and they drove me to the mission home to see Elder Gunn (our mission doctor who was a retired anesthesiologist). I remember crying a lot, not because the pain was so unbearable, but because I was sure that this injury was going to get me sent home.
We made it to the mission home and my companion helped me limp inside. Elder Gunn checked me out and told me that I had sprained my knee, but that after lots of ice, elevation, ibuprofen, and three or four days on crutches, I would be right as rain. He wrapped my knee in an ace bandage, gave me a set of crutches, and set me home. I spent the rest of the day with my knee wrapped, iced, and up, hoping the swelling would go down so that we could get back to work.
By the next weekend, I was still significantly swollen, had lost a lot of my range of motion in the knee, and still couldn’t bear to walk on it. Elder Gunn thought it would be a good idea for me to get a second opinion and set up an appointment for me to see a general practitioner on Monday, March 27, 2017. I went to the GP and he agreed with Elder Gunn’s diagnosis of a sprain, but he decided to order an MRI, just in case. I had the MRI done later that week, and they told me that they would call Elder Gunn by the following Monday with the results.
That weekend was General Conference. I remember sitting through the sessions being broadcast to the stake center with all the other missionaries from my zone, my knee wrapped and propped up on a stack of hymnbooks, completely unable to focus on anything the prophet or other general authorities were saying because I was so anxious about the pending results of the MRI.
On the morning of Monday, April 3, 2017, we received a text from Elder Gunn. To the best of my memory, this is what it said, “Results of MRI in. Confirmed tear in right ACL. Call me when you can.”
COMING HOME
After receiving the text confirming my right ACL tear on Monday, everyone was suddenly hurrying to get me in to see a surgeon who could review my MRI more closely and give me a prognosis. We got me in for an appointment on Wednesday and I was told to just follow my set schedule as normal and that we would know more after the appointment. Sister Koller and I rearranged our Wednesday schedule and did our best to focus on the work. We went about our P-Day on Monday, did our weekly planning on Tuesday, and avoided talking about the looming visit with the surgeon.
On Wednesday, Elder and Sister Gunn picked us up from our apartment and drove us to the surgeon’s practice. I remember feeling nervous and calm all at the same time. I got in to the exam room and the doc pulled my MRI up on the screen. He pointed to different white and grey areas, telling me what he saw. The only parts I remember clearly are him pointing to a dark spot and saying “Do you see that? That is a piece of your ACL, laying on top of your bone,” and “All of that darkness over your tibia is bruising to the bone. That’s why you are so swollen and can’t walk without pain.” I had a Grade III tear of the ACL of my right knee. The surgeon told me that surgery was medically necessary, considering my age and activity level, but that I did have some options. I could choose one of three reconstruction methods: using a piece of my own patellar tendon, using a piece of my own hamstring, or using a cadaver tendon. Elder Gunn let the doctor know we would be in touch and we left. The Gunn’s dropped us off back at our apartment and let us know they would speak to President Jardine and call us soon.
On Thursday, President Jardine asked me to come and meet with him . We cleared our schedule and drove to the meetinghouse. I went into President’s office while Sister Koller waited out in the foyer with Sister Jardine. President Jardine kindly, but clearly, told me that I would be returning home to Utah to undergo surgery. I remember being in shock and asking him when I would be leaving. In my mind, I was going to stay for the remainder of the transfer (about two and a half more weeks) to finish training Sister Koller, and I would go home with the next round of returning missionaries. President looked me in the eyes and I knew that he hated what he had to tell me next. He said that I had a ticket to be on the next flight from Sacramento to Salt Lake City, which happened to be the very next day. Next, he handed me his cell phone and told me to call my mom and let her know that I would be flying into the SLC International Airport on Friday evening. That was one of the hardest phone calls I’ve ever had to make. Finally, Sister Koller was invited into the room and President Jardine had me tell her that I would be leaving her the next day. That was almost more difficult than the phone call with my mom.
On Friday, April 7, 2017, I went to my last zone meeting as a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, said goodbye to Sister Koller, and was dropped off at the airport by President and Sister Jardine Friday afternoon. I hugged them both and limped through the airport to my gate. My flight was delayed almost two hours, so I didn’t land in Salt Lake until after 9:00 pm that night. My whole family was there, including my grandparents and several of my aunts, uncles, and cousins. There was a lot of crying, and though I was so happy to see my family after being apart for so long, I was so confused about why I was home so soon and it physically hurt to be pulled away from my mission so suddenly.
BEING HOME: SURGERY AND RECOVERY
Being home was hard. I missed my companion, the people in Sacramento, the lifestyle, the work, the schedule, the other missionaries…I missed it all. Having daily pain in my knee didn’t make anything easier, but most of my time in the first month I was home was consumed with finding a surgeon in Utah, getting a consult, and getting my knee surgery scheduled.
I had arthroscopic surgery on my right knee to reconstruct/replace the ACL using a piece of my right hamstring in the second week of May 2017. I had been home for about a month. My surgery was early on a Friday morning and it hurt. To make matters even less pleasant, I don’t handle anesthesia well and I was very, very nauseous for about 24 hours after the surgery…and that’s about all I remember. I was groggy and sleepy and nauseous and I slept on the couch all weekend long, alternating between a CPM machine and the combination of an ice machine and SCD machine. I was miserable.
I began physical therapy the Monday following surgery. I don’t know how many of you have had to undergo physical therapy, but if you have…I feel deeply sorry for you. Therapy is equal parts helpful and miserable. They are all about “good pain” and “healing pain”. But to the patient, pain is pain when you’ve just had an operation, and pain isn’t good. However, due to insurance limitations, my PT was cut off after about 4 weeks and I was on my own.
If you ask anyone who knew me and spent time with me that summer, I think they would tell you that I was great in every way, except maybe physically. My activity was still limited to sitting, standing, and walking, but I otherwise appeared to be happy and adjusted. The truth was, my physical state was doing the best out of my physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual health.
Physically, my knee ached, I had to wear a large brace most of the time, and I was still trying to rebuild the muscle I had lost since March. I was limited in what I could do, but I was making it work.
Mentally, I was bored out of my mind. I was planning on going back to Utah State in the fall, and I couldn’t find anywhere local that would hire for a few months, especially considering that I couldn’t tolerate prolonged standing or walking. I did have a regular babysitting job for a few weeks that summer. Three kids for two hours a day. My duties were to keep the kids entertained and outside so mom and the new baby could relax for a short time each day. This pretty much gave me enough income to put gas in my car and took enough time each day that I didn’t go completely insane. Moving to school and starting classes and a job helped with this a lot, but returning to college had it’s own drawbacks.
Emotionally, I felt raw. I felt like I was just getting a chance to grieve the loss of the last eight months of my mission. But, because I had been home for over 6 weeks by the time I started to really feel this grief set in, I also felt like I had to keep it all bottled up inside. No one wanted to hear about how I was feeling. My coming home early was old news and because it wasn’t due to disobedience or unworthiness, I got the impression that I was expected to just move on with my life. I felt like people were disappointed that I wouldn’t be returning to my mission once I was given medical clearance. This was a decision that I hadn’t made lightly and that I wasn’t happy about. But whenever I thought about returning to my mission, I had a very strong and undeniable prompting that that was not what Heavenly Father had planned for me and that I was to stay home. I cried in secret daily. I would take my car a block or two away, park away from any houses or other cars, put on some loud music, and scream and sob about the unfairness of what had happened to me. Every email I got from friends in the mission field, either from my mission or somewhere else, brought me to tears. While at school, I sought counseling for anxiety for a brief time, but even opening up to a counsellor was difficult and I quit before long. I bottled everything up and did everything I could not to show how much I was struggling, because no one wanted to see that. They all wanted me to say that I was adjusting and that I missed my mission but that I knew God had a plan for me and I was happy to follow His lead. So that’s what I said.
Spiritually, I had given up. When I first came home, I prayed and studied the scriptures whenever I had the chance, begging for peace and relief from the pain that I was feeling, both internally and externally. To my perception at the time, that peace and comfort never came. I felt completely and utterly alone. I felt abandoned. So I gave up. I stopped praying, stopped studying the scriptures, and only attended my Sunday meetings to keep up an appearance that I was fine. But on the inside I felt like a lost little girl. I remember wishing that I could be an atheist, because then I wouldn’t even believe in God. The hardest part for me at that time was that I knew God existed. I knew that He was there and that He had the ability to protect and comfort me. The part that I simply didn’t believe anymore was that He loved me. Because how could a loving Father in Heaven not only hurt me so badly while I was devoting all of my time and energy to Him, but how could He then abandon me in my time of need and leave me without so much as a glimmer of comfort? At the time, I honestly and truly believed that it would be less painful to live in a Godless world than to live in one with a God that didn’t care about me at all. I felt abandoned, betrayed, and completely alone.
Despite my internal wrestle with my relationship with God, I had never lost my conviction that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints was the one true and complete church on the earth today and that keeping the commandments taught there and by keeping covenants made through priesthood power was right. I know that may not make a lot of sense and sound contradictory, but in a nutshell: I knew the Church was true and I knew that covenants were real and important, I simply didn’t believe in the love of God for me specifically. I believe He had the ability to love and believed He could and probably did love people on the earth. I just didn’t believe I was one of those people.
I struggled with all of these feelings for months. I would have good times and bad times. In the fall of 2017, I met my future husband. We started dating and 5-6 months later I had the realization that if I wanted to continue dating this man, I needed to be prepared for the relationship to possibly lead to marriage. And because I still had a firm testimony in the truthfulness of the Church and of covenants, I knew that the only acceptable marriage for me would have to take place in the temple, the House of the Lord. However, I knew that I did not want to make such important covenants with Heavenly Father if I still believed that He didn’t love me. I couldn’t make promises of love and commitment to Colter if my relationship with my Father in Heaven was still so broken. So I decided that I had no choice but to fix it.
HEALING
I wish that repairing my relationship with Heavenly Father was as easy as deciding I believed in His love and apologizing for all of the resentment I had been feeling. My road to healing that relationship was much longer and harder than that. It involved a lot of honest prayer. I knew that if I wanted to feel whole with Him, that I would need to be honest in the things that I felt. It also took a lot of humility, to learn to look at my life and through the things that I had gone through in the last year through a different, elevated, perspective. I had to get some help and counsel from my bishop, so that I understood the feelings I was working through and how to do it right. I didn’t want a bandaid fix or a patch job. I wanted to have a firm, strong relationship with my Father. I had to study. I studied the scriptures, especially stories of faithful people who where burdened far more than I had been. I studied talks and articles about repentance, hope, faith, and forgiveness.
I think forgiveness was possibly the most difficult part for me. I needed to forgive Him for taking my life and changing it in a way that I didn’t want Him to. But more importantly, I needed to forgive myself for being so angry with Him. For all of the horrible things I had thought, for letting my faith grow so dim, for allowing myself to hurt so much for so long. I had to forgive myself for taking my trials from the last year, and beating myself down with them.
When I write this all out, it almost sounds like it was simple. Pray, study, be humble, and let the past go. In reality it involved me changing a lot and change is never comfortable. In fact, most of the time it hurts to some degree. But I had the motivation and the support to pull through it. I couldn’t have healed in the way I did without my Savior, Jesus Christ. I was able to lean on Him and His strength, because I remembered that He too had once felt abandoned by His Father. He knew exactly what I felt and what I was going through and He was able to guide me and strengthen me so that I could do the impossible.
WHERE I AM NOW
I have now been a return missionary from the California Sacramento Mission for two and a half years. I had several moments while writing this post that I had to take a short break because I was emotional. But I am no longer angry, bitter, hurt, resentful, disappointed, or ashamed of my mission. I am so incredibly grateful for the ten months that I served in California and I am equally as grateful that I returned home after those ten months, rather than the traditional eighteen.
I did not return “early” from my mission…I returned on the exact day and on the exact flight that my loving Heavenly Father intended me to.
I know that I was never meant to serve for a single day longer than I did, but that the time that I did serve was vital to my eternal happiness and possibly the eternal happiness and salvation of some other people as well. I know that I did not return “early” from my mission…I returned on the exact day and on the exact flight that my loving Heavenly Father intended me to. I served a full-time mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints for the full amount of time that Heavenly Father called me to. My mission was not dictated or defined by the piece of paper that I read in front of family and friends in January of 2016. My mission wasn’t even about me. It was about the people that I served and the work that I did for my Heavenly Father. I firmly believe that I did all that He needed me to do in California and that He moved me back to Utah when He needed me there.
My life today is not what I pictured when I wrote my five-year plan in high school or what I envisioned as I laid awake at night in the MTC. I have had to learn to be the kind of person that trusts her Father in Heaven enough to know that whatever comes in my life, I can get through it and learn something from it and become better, so long as I keep my faith in Christ and my trust in Him. We all have to learn how to rely on Christ if we want to be able to withstand the storms that are only getting stronger and more tumultuous. If we follow Him, our lives will not turn out according to our hopes and dreams…they will turn out better.
BARREL OF MERRELL'S 