This post is by Hermana Judd and she gave us permission to share with all of you.
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"This may be a long and rambling post, but it is something that has been on my chest for the last week or so.
This isn't something I am comfortable telling my family and
friends yet, but I figured maybe some of you here could benefit, and maybe I
could help one of you not make the mistakes I made.
I am a released early return
missionary.
What got me to that point and
why? That is what this post is going to be about.
I think that the age change a
year and a half ago made some of us suddenly feel like a mission was "the
only way to go." At least, that was what was running through my mind that
sunny Saturday morning when President Monson announced that young women could
serve at 19. I turned to my boyfriend's dad (my entire family are nonmembers), and
said "Well, I guess I am serving a mission." That was it. I just
decided, and at the time, in the excitement, it felt so, so right.
Then, 1 month later, I got my
patriarchal blessing. Not one word about full time service as a missionary. Not
a word, not a hint, nothing. I was a little unnerved at first, but then decided
(again, decided, not prayed) that it was just one of those moments where I was
going to do something that was not in my blessing and then look back in 50
years and discover that my entire blessing was about it. Ha.
So I went on, got a ton of
shots, went through some extra physical examinations because of my bad back,
went through the heartache of being classified a health level B because of my
back (which my bishop told me basically guaranteed me a spot in an urban
stateside mission with a car), reluctantly told my father, and turned in my
papers on March 1, 2013.
Keep in mind this entire time
that I had not once prayed about a mission.
On March 23, 2013, I was
called, much to the shock of everyone, to the Guatemala Guatemala City Central
Mission. Once again, in that excitement, everything felt so right.
However, once I got my call
and settled into preparations for my mission, things started feeling a little
weird to me. I started having feelings that maybe a mission wasn't for me. But,
in June, my dad kicked me out of his house and I went to live with LDS friends,
where I began to get a total outpouring of support for my mission.
I was given $1000 by my
boyfriend's grandparents to prepare for my mission. People were opening up
their homes to me. I became a total celebrity in my stake (convert girl serving
a mission = popularity). I was invited to speak at the stake priesthood
session. Priesthood. Session. I served as a temple worker. I had people giving
me gifts for my mission left and right. People pledged monthly donations for
the duration of my mission. I was past the point of no return, I could not say
no.
I still hadn't prayed about
it, but at this point, I frankly refused to.
On September 17, 2013, I left
my friends, family, and boyfriend (who left 3 weeks after me for his own
mission and is still faithfully serving) for Guatemala. I remember choking back
my tears at my first dinner in the MTC, and that night, I remember having to
literally hold myself to my mattress to keep myself from running to the mission
president's apartment and demanding a seat on the first flight home.
I survived as a missionary for
138 days. I made it through the MTC, and thanks to an incredible trainer, made
it through my first 12 weeks in the field. I only made it 1.5 weeks into my
next transfer.
In the MTC, I had started
praying about my destiny as a missionary, and began receiving the answer that I
had been dreading: "No, a mission is not for you. You are strong enough to
do this, but you know where you belong."
This made me sick. At the
beginning of December, I lost my appetite. I didn't want my trainer to think
anything was wrong, though, so I still told her I "was hungry", had
all my meals, and snacked. I just really, really didn't want to. Chicken is
really bad down there, and eating that started to make me feel physically sick.
Time was going on, I was feeling weaker, my mind was tired, my shoulders were
laden from the knowledge that I had ignored the promptings to not go on a
mission, and I was extremely distracted.
At the end of the transfer,
all 11 of the missionaries in my district received blessings at the end of our
district meeting. 10 of the blessings were about missions, but 1 was not. That
would be mine; mine was about how I was supposed to be preparing for motherhood
(well if that's not a heavenly kick in the pants I don't know what is). Really,
you should have seen everyone's face after that one, especially the elder who
gave it to me, he was so shocked he had to sit down for a minute.
One day shortly thereafter, I
remember standing outside a door with my first companion post-training. I was
standing in the driveway, staring straight at the door and said,
"Hermana, I want to go home. Now."
"Hermana, I want to go home. Now."
She called President, he told
me that I just needed to adjust to life without my trainer (I got very very
close with her), and that was the end of the call.
I stopped eating and drinking
entirely after that call. I just couldn't do it anymore. I gave a last,
extremely long and fervent prayer to know what to do and if I needed to be a
missionary, and the answer was just, no.
3 days later, I was on the
phone with my President again. "President," I said, "I am going
home."
He never talked to me again. I
entirely broke his heart.
That was it. 20 minutes later,
I was drinking Gatorade and feeling better physically. But other missionary
leaders started calling me and asking me what was going on. My district leader
cried on the phone and told me I was making a horrible choice. My zone leaders
talked to me and said the same thing, only adding that my home life was going
to be horrible and no one was going to accept me. The assistants came over that
night to talk to me, and had my stake president, my boyfriend's parents, and my
father all call me separately. My companion started lashing out because of the
prospect of being left in the area when she had barely had a week there
herself, and the other companionship in my house were permanently upset with
me, and just flat angry.
I went and talked to my Bishop
in the ward I was serving in, feeling entirely confused at that point, because
I knew what I needed to do, but everyone was telling me, "don't." He
gave me a blessing, in which he said, "Heavenly Father is proud of you for
what you have done. Well done, thou good and faithful servant." I felt a
lot better about my decision.
3 days later, I was on a plane
home, thanking Heavenly Father that I didn't live in Utah.
My Stake President released
me, thanked me for my "honorable" service, and that was that. I was
back to life at home. My transition back was not as bad as I had thought, but
that doesn't mean it has been easy. I have gotten lots of weird looks from
members, and I'm still pretty on the down-low when it comes to my
"presence" at church ( I am active, attend weekly, and go to the
temple, I am just not as prominent).
What could have solved all
this? If I had just swallowed my pride, gotten on my knees and PRAYED before my
mission! That simple! I did not pray about it because I was afraid of what the
answer would be, and I was afraid of what the answer would be because I knew
what the answer would be.
If you have survived this far,
you seriously deserve some kind of prize. But really, I hope that this will
maybe help some of you understand that missions are not a
"commandment" like they are for young men! GO if you are TOLD that
you NEED to go!
Healthwise, I still cannot eat
chicken. It makes me want to hurl.
Churchwise, still a little
awkward, but I have a lot of support.
Promptingwise, I still know
that I need to be here at home. I am working full time and attending the temple
weekly, and will be starting school soon. Still not sure what the exact exact
reason I am home is, or how to go about this whole preparation for motherhood
thing, but I know that I am right where I need to be.
I also know that my time in
Guatemala was not a waste. Every moment was incredible, and it was such a huge
blessing to me.
I also have a new mantra for
my life from this experience, taken from a popular hymn:
"Did you think to
pray?" "
