On my mission, both in San Francisco and Brazil, I had faith,
and I had a lot of it. I was sure that I was where the Lord wanted me to be. I
knew that He would heal me from the disease I was suffering with. I knew He would,
so I prayed harder and simultaneously got sicker.
It became very clear at the bus station in Brazil when I
collapsed that my body and my spirit were too weak to continue doing what I had
been doing. The next few days in Brazil were hell as I was bombarded with
people telling me that if I only had more
faith, I would return to my mission in a few weeks.
My sister slept in my bed with me the night I got home. I
kept waking up crying and screaming, with terrible and violent nightmares. She
would grab me and tell me that I was in Washington and I was home and things
were going to be okay. I hardly left my mom’s side for the next three months
because of the inability to function on my own.
The anger settled in as I kneeled down and talked to God
over the next month. I was mad at Him, in ways that I had never been mad at
anyone. I felt that I had been cheated, that I had done this great thing for
Him and then He had let me fall, and that I would never be okay again. I had
never been so angry in my life, for the doctor’s appointments, for the pain, for
people who ignorantly made judgmental comments, and for my lost mission. I
threw things and broke picture frames and cried and stopped praying altogether,
for almost a year.
I learned after drifting away from God and my family that I had
to re-evaluate my understanding of faith. I thought that having faith in God
meant that anything was possible. I’ve since learned that this is true, but
only if God wants whatever we have faith in to happen. I had faith on my
mission that He would heal me, when since
I have learned that I should of have faith that He could heal me. Accepting this freed me. I started to develop the
faith not to be healed.
I slowly began to kneel again, and it was an awkward and
difficult transition. I pled with God to help me. I stopped asking Him to heal
me and I started asking Him to help me understand. He would immediately overwhelm
me with love, so much unconditional and confusing love, leaving the less
important issues to work themselves out.
The problems in my life were still looming and seemed
impossible, but I had this undeniable peace that He had my back in a very real
way and wanted me to have every portion of happiness possible. He knew and
understood I was mad, and told me to keep talking to Him and keep trying my
best to go to church and to be kind. I kept trying, and some days I didn’t do
too well with it. He was always there to listen, again and again.
The most amazing part of the Atonement for me is that God
loves us in our weakness. He has the power to heal, but sometimes He doesn’t. Through
Him not fixing things immediately, I can know that I am loved, infinitely and beautifully,
even in the midst of diseases and challenges. This is so vastly different from
what the world teaches us, that we are valued based on our performance. Faith
to me has become more of an assurance that God loves me enough to let me learn,
even let me fail, so that I can become closer to the person He has meant me to
be: more empathetic, kind, patient, and forgiving.
I opened my mission journal last week for the first time
since my mission, and I cried harder than I have in the last two years of being
home. I looked at Branden through tears and said “That was so hard,” and I
grieved again for the ways I had experienced pain and loss. But shortly after
reliving the pain, profound gratitude sunk in, for what my mission was and the
ways it forced me to trust in my loving Father more. I then told Branden, “Every
question that I had in my last journal entry when I was flying home—every fear
and concern and insecurity—has been answered. Look at where I am now.”
God didn’t heal me on my mission or even after it, but He now
gives me power, day to day and moment to moment, to be okay with being
imperfect. I am grateful for a God who loves us enough to allow life to be hard,
and then gives us the power to make it wonderful.
