Five Years

Three days ago was the fifth anniversary since my LDS baptism. I was 18 and shy but bright-eyed, and absolutely confident in my decision. Since then I've learned a lot.

I've learned how fulfilling and comforting leading a religious life can be, to be able to tap into my spirituality and receive peace from a source I'm sure is not of this world. I've learned to see others as equally loved and trusted by God as I came to believe I am. I've learned that church isn't really a place to worship but to grow in some of the most uncomfortable ways. I've learned to be patient with fellow believers when their love for obedience overshadows their love for their neighbor. I've learned that we're all in a process, and that the process isn't linear or uniform for anybody. I've learned to strike up conversations with strangers on the street and to listen with compassion when these awkward encounters turn into heartfelt demonstrations of pain and hardship. I've learned to sit in living rooms with families and to reach out into heaven for the right words to speak to souls looking for answers, when even I don't know those answers they need. I've learned about quiet resignation when my plans fall apart. I've learned about patience and gratitude and long periods of waiting, waiting, waiting. I've learned to create friendships with people I would have never otherwise pursued friendships with, acquainting myself with many different perspectives along the way. I've learned a lot of doctrine, and about how complicated it can seem but how simple it truly is. I've learned about principles, how they never fail. About charity, how it never fails. I've learned to make things work with my family, to be an example to them, work to become better for them, and love them just as they are. I've learned to teach, to understand the scriptures, to understand. I've learned to step outside of myself, and to be so malleable to whatever new lesson I felt God was trying to teach me every day. I learned to stretch myself in ways I didn't know I could, and felt so glad about the person I felt myself becoming. I could never transmit through words or any other means the depth of some of the spiritual experiences I've lived. I've learned who God is and who I am in relation to Him, among so many other beautiful things...

...and at some point during these five years I also learned that all of that—the peace, the assurance, the glad hardship, the elation—could be drowned out in the most bitter bout of depression I've ever lived through. That five years later, all the goodness I lived through and cherished would feel like a stranger's memory I somehow scored an intimate viewing of. Now I'm not really sure what I believe because I confused myself trying to put the pieces back together, and I'm not sure I can ever feel the way I once did, but somehow, through all the bitterness, I am so glad I took that bold step five years ago. This is my experience, and I could never truly resent it.

Why I didn't serve a mission -

Anyone that has known me for the past five years knows that serving an LDS mission was an absolute dream of mine since my conversion. It's now 2017 and I have not gone a mission. I probably won't at all.

I'm not writing this because I feel the need to explain myself, and I don't think anyone is really looking for an explanation anyway. I'm mostly writing it because I have this constant need to share and be vulnerable. For some reason I feel like doing so helps me grow. I've never been good at being some mysterious entity like I wish I could be. You know, like those strange people who never update their social media and have the same profile picture for years? Truly magical beings. But I'm just not one of them. I tend to keep to myself a lot but when given the right platform and given the right state of mind, I can be incredibly open and honest and embarrassing. I feel silly for being this way, but as I said, it tends to stimulate a lot of growth for me. It keeps me uncomfortable enough to keep moving.

Toward the end of 2014 I decided I wanted to serve a mini-mission. I had been attending community college for the past year and a half and as much as I was doing well, my heart was set on a mission. I couldn't take it anymore and decided to take a semester off, talk to my bishop, and do a little test run until I could serve a full-time mission. It all felt inspired.

The mini-mission was a blessing in many ways. I loved it. I love the people I served with and the experiences I had. For a whole month I finally felt like I was doing exactly what I was meant to be doing all along. Talking to people about God and His love is the only thing that has ever made true sense to me, it felt so natural. Very little of it seemed challenging to me, I was experiencing the highest of spiritual highs, and even my failures felt like happy news. It was all just a process of learning and growing. I think because I didn't have a lot of time to really analyze all that I was experiencing, I was able to just run with it despite any strain.

However, at some point I became really confused. I felt exhausted in ways that didn't make sense. All my feelings felt muted at some points. I didn't understand how I could be having the time of my life while simultaneously feeling like I wanted to die. Sometimes my companions would look over at me in the backseat of our car and ask if I was okay. "Yeah, I'm fine, don't worry about it." I knew I was fine, but I didn't feel fine.

It wasn't really until weeks after I returned home that it started to settle into my mind that maybe things were a bigger deal than they seemed. Other things started to happen that continued the stream of disappointments. I suffered silently for a good chunk of time until I finally broke and started trying to open up to people. Last year I received counseling from a woman at LDS Family Services and she reassured me that if I couldn't serve a mission, it didn't make me a failure. After holding on to wanting to serve a mission for so long, I finally was ready to admit to myself that maybe I didn't want to serve after all. I did, and I desired it for years, but not if the stress of it was going to subconsciously tap into all of my extremes and make me suffer. I wanted to change the world and help so many people, but would I be able to sustain it?

I realize maybe I have lacked faith all along. I realize that others with similar tendencies have successfully served missions even if it came with great amounts of trial. I don't know what it is about God's plan for me that requires a different story than what I had imagined. I still understand very little of my experience and I don't have any nice conclusion to tie a knot at the end of this, I just need to put it out there publicly. Finally. I don't want to own any of this baggage anymore, I want to move on. Maybe if you're reading this, you want to talk to me about it. Offer a similar experience, your perspective. Anything. I'm here. I'm open. I'm tired of suffering alone.

Michelle, my belle

Whenever I walk home from church I make a point of taking this one street that is full of dreamy, perfect houses that make me feel like I’m in a movie. Certainly if I had to live in this city all my life, I’d like a house on this street. It always feels like spring walking down it, no matter the season, and it never fails to cheer up my step and bring a smile to both my face and my heart, as cheesy as that may sound. I'm glad I had my camera with me this past Sunday so that I could finally document and write about it. This is something I don’t want to forget.

So I didn't feel quite comfortable taking pictures of the actual houses this time around. But I think I will go back soon and maybe make a photo project out of admiring my favorite details of this street, including the dainty, dream-like houses. Maybe I can even get a snap of that cute elderly couple that sometimes work in their garden together. Maybe I can actually manage to capture a close-to-accurate depiction of the charm this little place has, for the sake of long-term remembrance.

When I look back on my times on this street, I want to be able to remember the awe and wonder that it brought to my mind. I want to remember how excited I would get at any chance to walk home just to experience this once more. I don't want to forget how some days walking past there felt like I was on a pioneer trek, not because of the weather or the distance, but because of how I felt; absolutely alone or held up by angels, weak or brave, angry or just plain confused. I want to remember the early seminary mornings that feel so long behind me now. I don't want to forget how it felt walking past there on my way to school at 7:20am. I should have felt sleepy or tired, but I actually felt invigorated. I felt grateful and hopeful. Every single time. The sun seemed to literally shine brighter, the flowers were merrier, the rain was bolder. The fog felt light and loving all around. The whole world seemed to greet me and congratulate me on how beautifully the seed of faith was being nurtured and growing inside me.

 I would absolutely love to remember.
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