Homecoming

When the semester had ended, Cole and I went down to Arizona for a week so I could finally report my mission to the stake high council and give my official homecoming address. It may have been five months delayed, but it was worth it.

Here it is.

Six months ago, I got sent home from my mission in Nicaragua due to medical issues. My last Sunday there, the bishop had me stand in front of the congregation and bear my testimony. I cried through the whole thing as I had to face those people I had grown to love so much, and tell them I had to leave. Afterwards, they all swarmed me with hugs and kisses on the cheek, telling me they’d miss me but that God had a plan for me. Coming home was hard, but I told myself it would all be okay because the doctors were going to fix me and I was going to go back. But the Spirit kept telling me to go back to school. By the time I accepted that as my next step, I was already readmitted, had housing, a job, and books. A few days later I skipped back to happy valley again, and yes, I am engaged. When you’ve been home for six months and you are living in Provo, what can you expect. But through all the stresses of wedding planning, I’m realizing that this is the plan God had.

So there’s some good news and some bad news. Everyone always wants the bad news first, so I’ll just get that over with. I was only out on the mission for six months. I got sent home early because of problems with my back and tendinitis in my knee. They found the problem in my knee, gave me a new brace, sent me to physical therapy – quick fix. My back, however, was a much bigger problem. After meeting with tons of doctors, two rounds of x-rays, chiropractic care, blood tests, physical therapy, and an MRI, I was diagnosed with degenerative disc disease. I received an epidural steroid injection in my spine back in January, which didn’t work, and I was sent to a pain management specialist who wanted to do two more injections in the joints of my spine. My mom told me to hold off on more invasive treatment, and I got to meet with a neurosurgeon when I was home in Arizona just a couple of weeks ago. All he said was that I need to focus on the muscles in my back rather than the discs and the joints. So I’m still fighting that battle.

Working in Nicaragua was painful. I told myself it was a sacrifice I needed to make to prove that I was a worthy, hard-working missionary. I had committed to 18 months, and I was going to stick it out – no matter what. Everyone said the mission was hard, and I went in knowing I would be pushed past my limits. When it was becoming a reality that I was going to get sent home, my companion told me that a mission was like a refiner’s fire, tumbling and burning at rapid speeds until you were molded in to what you needed to be. She said that my refiner’s fire tumbled a lot faster and at a much higher heat than that of most other missionaries’. I refused to accept it.

Suddenly I found myself in my final interview with my mission president. All I could say was, “I don’t want to go home.” My mission president is a very calm, patient, Costa Rican man. He looked me in the eyes and said, “I know you don’t want to. But do you need to?” Then the tears, the long plane rides, the tears, the culture shock coming back to the states, the tears, taking off my plaque, and of course, more tears. I couldn’t even look at my nametag for a couple of weeks after that. Coming home was hands down the hardest thing of my life. After being in and out of the hospital my last few days in Managua, I was confined to the house with nothing but a companion from Guatemala and a lot of church magazines. I was reading an article about a missionary who got sent home early and couldn’t understand why. Revelation he had noted became revelation to me. He said, “The Lord cares just as much about His instrument as He does about the task at hand.”

When we decide to serve a mission, we give our heart, might, mind, and strength. We get that call to serve and it completely consumes us. We are so full of excitement that it doesn’t even phase us when people say the mission is hard. Nothing can prepare you for those moments when you want to sit down in the middle of that dusty dirt road and cry; the moments when you would give anything just to give your mom a hug; the moments when you can’t even look at your investigator because you get so frustrated that they don’t understand the principles you’ve understood since primary. That being said, even thinking about leaving them hurts you. Going home is not the easy way out. Lately, the church news has been flooded with stories about missionaries being sent home due to mental health issues. My heart reaches out to them as I know how hard it is to come home, but I almost wish I could hear more stories about missionaries getting sent home due to physical injury. We suffer some of the same pains that they do, struggling with feelings of failure and inadequacy, always wondering if we did enough. I just hope that these numbers slow down and that more missionaries can complete their anticipated time in the field.

So that’s the bad news. Now for the good news! I was sent to the best mission in the world – and you can fight me on that. Nicaragua is my absolute favorite place and holds some of my favorite people. I just love everything about it! Yes, it was hot. I don’t think I ever stopped sweating. There were diseased mosquitos that made us sick. There were stray dogs everywhere. We lived in houses infested with rats and cockroaches and our shower was just a pipe coming out of a concrete wall with freezing cold water. We had crazy guys on the street reaching out to touch us and asking us to be their wives. We drank dirty water, we had nasty dusty feet because of all the walking we did, we got caught in crazy monsoon-type of rainstorms… I loved every second of it. I loved how the Nicas couldn’t sing to save their life. I loved their tiny bananas. I loved that they all called each other brother and sister. I loved that they had “red-flavored” soda. Not cherry, not strawberry, not raspberry – red. (It was an acquired taste.) I loved that they never smiled in pictures. I loved that you didn’t knock on people’s doors. You stood in front of their house, sometimes putting your face between the bars of their front porch, just yelling “Buenas!!!” until someone came and talked to you. I loved that a machete could be used for anything. I loved that they called America “Gringolandia.” I loved that they drank everything out of plastic bags. I loved how much they loved Christ.

I helped 10 people enter the waters of baptism and a family of three get their recommends to be sealed in the temple. Each story is unique and I could talk about them for days. But since my time is limited, I’ll have to pick favorites. First, is Nelson. He was 40 years old, lived with his dad, two brothers, and four nephews. There were so many boys in that house, it was insane. He was super open at first, and would always let us in. He could hardly read but was reading the Book of Mormon, he came to church with us, he went to baptismal services, ward activities, three sessions of General Conference, and met with our ward mission leader to ask him for help with a personal sin he was struggling with. He was stronger than some of the members in that ward. We invited him to baptism so many times, but he refused because when his mother was on her death bed, she made him promise that he would stay Catholic forever. We would try to tell him that she is the reason we were there. She sent us to him. She is on the other side and she knows the truth. She sent us so he would understand and do the work on the earth to save their family. We would extend an invitation to baptism, he wouldn’t accept it, and we would drop him as an investigator. It happened like four times. But then he kept showing up at church on Sunday! He just came by himself! So we would talk to him and asked if he had changed his mind. He would say no, and just said he liked how he felt in the church because he could feel the spirit. I said, “You can feel like that all the time if you got baptized and received the gift of the Holy Ghost as your constant companion.” He said, “No Hermana, I like the darkness.” NELSON. WHY. My companion and I decided we could no longer sit down and teach him since, in mission terms, he was not “progressing”. But there was something so strongly pulling us towards him, so we couldn’t help but stop and say hi when we were passing through his street. He knew the principles, he knew how the church worked; maybe it just wasn’t his time.

Easter Sunday, I heard from my companion, who was still serving in that area. She updated me on the lives of people I haven’t been able to keep in touch with, saying this person is pregnant, this person is getting married, this person is the new ward mission leader, things like that. Then she said, “Nelson died.”

My heart stopped. There is no way. I cannot believe we didn’t baptize him. How is it that we could never find the right thing to say to get him to make the decision to get baptized? What more should we have done? It’s too late. He’s gone. Our efforts were wasted.

I heard back from my comp, and she said, “In a year, we can get permission from his father and we can do the work for him. We will save him.” Brothers and sisters, this is an eternal work. Not only did I change people’s lives, and they changed mine, but the eternities were involved here. It is thanks to the restored gospel and power of the priesthood that we can do work for people like Nelson. Without it, we would be so lost.

When I was up at school, I was sitting in my ward’s fast and testimony meeting when a girl stood up and started telling her conversion story. She’s from Virginia and got baptized two years ago. She said it breaks her heart hearing people question whether or not they did enough on their mission. She said she gets aggravated when they say they feel like they wasted those 2 years or 18 months. She was the only baptism her missionaries had. She said, “If those elders ever think their mission was wasted, I will kill them. They saved my life. They changed my eternity.” She stared us down in the congregation and said, “Don’t you ever think you wasted your time. You made a bigger difference than you think.” Her words have stuck with me. Every time Satan makes me doubt and think I failed because my time was cut so short, I remember what she said. Those 10 people that entered the covenant of baptism… They needed me. I did make a difference.

In my mission, we focused on families. We had to contact a certain number of families every day, count how many families we brought to church, and we were supposed to focus on completing part-member families. My companion and I had been praying to find one to teach for so long. After struggling for a few weeks, we decided to make a deal with God. We told Him we would act on every prompting and follow every rule if He would give us a miracle family. Here’s what happened:

We were out tracting late at night after walking probably 10 miles that day and decided to take a short break before our legs fell off. We had been sitting down on the side of the road for maybe a minute when my comp jumped up and said we forgot to go visit our recent convert Emeline. Emeline lived way on the other side of our area. I hesitated, thinking Emeline probably forgot we were coming anyways and that it would be a waste of time, but then I remembered that deal we made. So we booked it over to Emeline’s house. Turns out, she wasn’t even home. So we were slowly walking back home, telling ourselves we had to contact two more families to reach our goal for the day. We saw a woman with her two boys walking towards us on the road, and we decided to contact them. We introduced ourselves like we always did, saying, “Hola, somos misioneras de la Iglesia de Jesucristo de los Santos de los Ultimos Dias”, “have you ever heard of us? Sometimes we’re called Mormones. We have that church on the corner up the street.” Then something crazy happened. The mom said, “Yes! We pass by there every day on our walk to the school! It’s so beautiful. We’ve been waiting for someone to invite us in!” WELL YOU ARE MOST CERTAINLY INVITED. Then she said, “Follow me, I’ll show you where we live so you can come visit us tomorrow!”

At this point in the mission, my mission president was counseling us to focus on finding the escogidos, or the “chosen ones.” He said that the Nicas are so nice and open and they love talking about Jesus so almost anyone will let us in and sometimes even commit to baptism without really having a testimony of the gospel. He said the way to find the escogidos was to invite them to baptism at the end of the very first lesson. Terrifying.

We went back to see this family the next day, we taught the first lesson, invited them to baptism, and they accepted! My companion and I were in shock. We found our miracle family! They went to church with us twice, and they were baptized and confirmed the day before I came home. I was weeping as I saw the mom, Jasmina, get baptized first. Her boys were standing next to me in front of the font, just radiating with joy as they watched their mom. Then Jose Manuel went. His little brother, Onasis, who just happened to be eight, was jumping up and down he was so excited. Then it was his turn. That may have been the most powerful moment of my mission, watching a family take that step together.

 

Miracles do happen. And the work we put in does not go unnoticed. The baptisms of this precious family began with just a prayer of two humble missionaries asking for help.

My mission scripture was D&C 82:3: For of him unto whom much is given, much is required. I have been beyond blessed to have been born in this time, when we have the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and the power to save our fellow men. Once you let that sink in, you can’t help but want to share it. I have been given so much, and because of that, I had to give back. I worked hard. The time that I had committed to my mission I consecrated to the Lord. It was His time, and I didn’t want to get in the way.

Not a day goes by that I don’t think about Nicaragua and the people I fell in love with. Those six months went by so fast, but they changed me.

Elder Holland, preceding his recent face-to-face event, answered a question from a guy who got sent home early from his mission due to mental health issues. His response was an answer to my prayers. He said:

I want you to take the dignity and the strength and the faith that came from your [six] months and cherish that forever. I don’t want you to apologize for coming home. When someone asks you if you have served a mission, you say yes. You do not need to follow that up with, ‘But it was only [six] months.’ Just forget that part, and say yes you served a mission, and be proud of the time that you spent.

I am proud of the work I did in Nicaragua. I worked, I loved, and I learned a new language! I miss it, but I know I’m where I’m supposed to be.

 

 

 

 

The Church is true. Live it.

Treatment

Three weeks ago, I received my epidural steroid injection.

My brother is the one that drove me there, and because he had received an injection like this before, he gave me a word of advice: don't look at the needles. 

I was pretty stressed out walking into the hospital that day, and the level of anxiety only increased as I got closer to my assigned room. I laid on my stomach with my eyes closed, silently crying as the interventional radiologist banged around in my back, tugging and pulling on my spine for about a minute. He stopped and I thought he was done, then he said, "I'm going to inject you now. There are two medications, so just be patient." 

It hurt.





They had me lay there for about 20 minutes afterwards, holding a barf bag because the medications made me a little nauseous. 

Then I carefully got dressed and walked out to meet my brother in the waiting room.

The next morning, I got up at 7 and was starting to get ready for the day. I was planning on going to all 5 of my classes, but my roommates stepped in and made me get back in bed. Once they all left, I thought I would be okay to go to my last 3. 

That was a mistake.

I could hardly move! It took me a good 30 minutes to get to campus when it usually takes 10-15. I couldn't bend over, turn around, take long steps over patches of ice, nothing! I was pretty helpless. I got back that night, and told myself to take it easy. I spent a couples days sleeping, studying, and watching movies, trying to get my mind off the pain.

The doctors said I would be sore from the needles for about 2 days, and then the steroid would kick in. They told me I would feel great! My brother said after his, he wanted to jump around and do cartwheels. I was getting so excited and so ready to feel good again.

I felt strong for 1 day. Then it went right back to where we started. Worse, actually.

I have different sensations of pain now. There's a very strong, sharp pain shooting down the front and back of my right leg. There's sometimes a burning right where the injection was. There's now aching on my left side too. I can't sit for more than about 45 minutes, and I have to readjust my standing posture very frequently.

I knew this wasn't good.

I had my check-up 15 days after my injection. I told my doctor how it went and how I was feeling, and he said that was not what he was expecting to hear. He spent about 10 minutes reviewing my x-rays, my MRI, and the ultrasound images from the injection, then turned to me and said, "At this point, I usually punt." I asked him what that meant and he said he is going to drop-kick me to somebody else. He said the problems I have are out of his scope of knowledge and expertise. He says there has been damage done to my back, and he doesn't know how to fix it.

I got dumped! By my doctor!

He said he was referring me to a pain management specialist, meaning they won't fix the problem. They'll just teach me how to deal with it. I don't like that.


I asked what this pain management guy could do for me, and he said this specific doctor really likes injections. He will try different steroids and medications in different parts of my back, trying to find what works for me.

I immediately started crying.



That injection was the most painful thing I've ever experienced, and I do not want to do it again.

My doctor said he knew I was discouraged, but that we haven't wasted any time. He did exactly what any other doctor would have done, and he's sorry that it didn't work.

So I walked out of there a little sad and a little annoyed, with a prescription for the same pain medication that I used in Nicaragua. Then I called the pain management doctor.

I don't have an appointment until March 15.

I met with a friend's dad who also has degenerative disc disease. It became a problem for him while he was on his mission, but he ignored it for 20 years. Once he started receiving treatment, he tried everything under the sun: ozone injections, prolotherapy, different patterns of ice and heat, inversion tables, physical therapy, electric pulse machines, pain medications - everything. He said it's a good thing they caught mine so early so I can slow the damage to my back and I won't be in so much pain when I'm older.

So the search for an effective treatment continues! At this point, I'm willing to try pretty much anything. I have to find something quick because I have been interviewed for two incredible job opportunities up here in Utah Valley for the summer.

As for now, my MTC buddies are reaching the half-way mark on their missions. I wish I could be out there working with them, but instead, I get to cheer from the side-lines.

And I'm okay with that.

Answers

Well folks, we finally know what's going on.

But let me start from the beginning:

I've been having back pain for more than 2 years. I was in a car accident in March of 2014 which aggravated it and made it almost unbearable. I saw a chiropractor up until I left on my mission and found some relief, but never felt like the problem was completely resolved. I took a leap of faith and went to Nicaragua anyways.

Working in Managua was very painful. I'll leave it at that.

When I got home, I went straight to the chiropractor. He popped everything back into place, then told me that my spine had gotten very rotated in those last 6 months. He warned me that I would be a little sore the next couple days as my body readjusted to having everything back to normal, and suggested maybe I get my blood tested for Rheumatoid Arthritis. I didn't think anything of it and just went to the next doctor, got some x-rays, and was prescribed 6 weeks of physical therapy. 

That did nothing.

After miraculously getting back in to school, Missionary Medical recommended a few back specialists here in Utah. 

I called them immediately.

Last week, my brother and I drove up to American Fork to see one of these guys. He took more x-rays, asked more questions, and ran more tests. He checked my strength, my flexibility, and my nerves. 

Turns out I can't feel my right leg from my shin down.

He then asked if any other doctor had mentioned Rheumatoid Arthritis.

I said yes.

He scheduled me for an MRI and some blood tests and told me to come back a week later.

That week was a bit stressful. Rhuematoid Arthritis scared me! My MTC companion had RA. I knew how hard it was for her to inject herself every week. I knew how miserable her body felt. I knew how scared she was of ending up in a wheel chair. I didn't want that! She was strong enough to handle it. Not me.

One of my best friends up here offered a priesthood blessing. I gladly accepted.

All he did was say my name, then stopped and took a deep breath. I knew right then that it was gonna be a tough one to hear.

First, he told me that my Heavenly Father was aware of my situation and that He was so proud of me. I was told that I completed everything I was meant to do on my mission. I changed the lives of many people here on the earth and the eternities of people on the other side of the veil.

I started sobbing. That was the confirmation I had been waiting 2 months to hear.

Then he said, "Hard times are coming."

He told me to keep my friends and family close as I adjust to my new lifestyle.
He told me it is a blessing and a miracle that my older brother lives so close by.
He told me to always remember those times in my life that I have felt the Spirit.

The week passed, I got my MRI, I got my blood tests, and I saw the doctor yesterday.

My blood tests were all normal, which meant that Rheumatoid Arthritis was off the table.

Then we looked at the MRI.

The most apparent problem was that I have a bulging L4-L5 disc. It is closing off the recess in front of my spinal cord where the nerves pass through, which is why I have lost feeling in my leg and have such limited control. He also said it was significantly worse on my right side, which is where the most intense pain is.

He scrolled up and down my spine, reviewing every image. The lower down my spine he went, with every disc the recess became more and more narrow.

He diagnosed me with degenerative disc disease.

He said that he refuses to give me back surgery because I am so young, so I'll be getting steroid injections in my spine. I can receive two rounds of injections, and if those don't work, I will be operated on.

I took a deep breath, then started firing off a million questions.

This is what I learned:
I have to get those injections.
After 2 weeks of rest, I have to start some extensive physical therapy.
I also have to start taking muscle relaxants again to calm down the muscles in my back that have been working over time to compensate for my weak discs.

I was fine until I got in the car with my brother and he asked me what the deal was. It was when I said it out loud that the fear set in.

I know this isn't game-over. I'm not dying. This is just something I'm going to have to deal with for a while. It may cause problems for the rest of my life. It may not.

I just hate feeling so weak and limited! I hate being told that I can't do something.

My whole life, I have pushed myself to the limits. I went on a 12-day backpacking trek at Philmont when people told me my knee wasn't strong enough. I graduated with high honors from one of America's most challenging high schools. I was a girls camp director when everyone said I was too young. I became fluent in Spanish in less than 6 months. 

When I want something, I make sure I get it.

I'm just glad I finally have the answers I've been praying for. This has been one long, painful experience, and I'm glad I will soon be finding some relief.

I have felt God pushing me (sometimes dragging me) along through everything, and I know He's going to help me through this next little while.

I just have to keep fighting until I get my life back.

I'll do it, too.

Pressing On

I have now been home for 33 days.  I've visited the doctors, I've been going to physical therapy, and I've been taking it one day at a time. 

When I came home, I was 100% set on going back to Nicaragua. I had already committed myself to serving 18 months and I loved Nicaragua SO MUCH, that I would do anything and everything to get myself back there.

But then I was reminded that this is not about what I want. It never has been.

So I talked to God and asked for some clear direction. I told Him I understood that this was not about my will, but His. I would just follow His lead. 

I have gone to the temple 4 times since being home. I have fasted. I have prayed. I wanted to do everything I could to make sure that what happened next was exactly what Heavenly Father was planning on.

Then I found myself thinking about going back to school. 

That definitely was not what I was expecting.

How could BYU be a better option than finishing my mission?

Once again, I was reminded of my finite mind and my inability to comprehend God's plan.

So I trusted Him.

I met with my stake president and mentioned that I had been thinking about returning to school. He immediately perked up and told me he completely supports and actually encourages that decision. He filled out my ecclesiastical endorsement that night, and I registered for classes just a couple of days ago. I then ordered books, applied for a job, and even signed a lease for an apartment up in Provo.

At this point, I have no idea what's going on.

I don't know why I'm not heading back to Nicaragua right away.
I don't know why everything with BYU worked out so easily.
I don't know why I'm not progressing with my physical therapy.
I don't know why I feel so at peace with this next step.

All I know is that I pray A LOT for a clear mind and the ability to receive strong promptings from the Spirit. 

When I made the decision to serve a mission, I simultaneously made the decision to be an instrument in God's hands, giving Him my absolute best. Even though this has not been working out as I imagined, I know He is gently guiding me along. I've continued to do my part, and I know He is doing His.

This little journey has nothing to do with me. He's in charge. (And thank goodness He is. I don't want to make these kinds of decisions.)

So for now, I'm off to continue my education. 

I am still in a lot of physical pain and I have no idea how long this recovery is going to take. I don't know if I will ever be given a medical clearance to return to the field. But I am not giving up. I have not turned back on the decision I made when I applied for a mission. I was following the Spirit then, and I am following the Spirit now.

Who knows what will happen next.

I'm Still Me

Things I liked before the mission: 50's diners, soccer, sad movies, playing the piano.
Things I like now: 50's diners, soccer, sad movies, playing the piano.
Nicaragua changed me, but not that much. 

I understand that this is kind of a tough spot for everyone to be in. Nobody knows what to say because maybe they've never been in this situation before. 

Let me help you: Treat me like a normal human being. 

I'm home. Everyone knows I'm home. I'm not hiding anything, so don't treat me like I am. I don't need those awkward looks of sympathy and confusion from across the room. Come over, say hi, ask me how I'm doing, ask about Nicaragua. I might tear up a little bit, but that's because I miss Nicaragua! I loved my mission! I could talk about it for days! I'm not ashamed of anything. If you have a question, ask!

I'm not planning on becoming a recluse and hiding in a dark corner in my house. I am going to live my life. I am going to hang out with my friends here in Tucson. I am going to run errands for my mom. I am going to visit the doctors and do my physical therapy. But in between all that, I'm going to be out and about, living life just like I did before. Just because I came home early from my mission does not mean I don't have the right to enjoy my life. 

Men are that they might have joy. There isn't a conditional clause there saying "Men are that they might have joy, unless they came home early from their mission." Happiness is a choice. I choose to be happy - wherever I am. I'm still me. 

Coming Home

January 24, 2015, I received my mission call: Nicaragua Managua North Mission. That day, all I could think was, “Nicaragua? How random! Nobody even thinks about Nicaragua!” Then, July 6 of this year, I set foot in the country that would forever change my life.

It was dang hot. I sweat more than I would care to tell you. I tripped over drunk men lying in the street, ran away from stray dogs that personally targeted us, squealed of excitement every Monday when I got to hear from my family, ate enough rice to last a lifetime, got a nice tan, and cried over the extreme poverty. I spent my mornings studying, and the afternoons walking and teaching. I helped 10 people enter the waters of baptism. I learned the language, I learned how to live with a companion by my side 24/7, and I learned what it meant to submit my will to the Father’s.

At least I thought I had learned that. Then I was told to go home.

I have had knee problems since I was 15 and was in training for a backpacking trip.

I have had back problems since I was in a car accident last March.

When I applied for a mission, I shared in detail what the problems were and what treatment I had received.

I was still called to Nicaragua.

I walked about 10 miles a day, through the rain forest, the dusty dirt roads, and the paved roads of the city. At first, everything was fine. I experienced the normal aches and pains that come with being a missionary.

But then my knee started clicking with every step. The inflammation was real. My back hurt so bad I sometimes couldn’t walk. I sometimes couldn’t breathe.

I told myself they were all part of the mission experience. This is a sacrifice I have to make in order to submit my will to the Father’s, in order to show Him how much I am willing to give for Him.

My companion disagreed. She made me call the nurse after about a week of the severest pain I have ever experienced.

The nurse cried with me as she told me what we could do to relieve some of the pain, but that the outcome wasn’t looking very positive.

I rested for 1 week. I iced my knee diligently, I laid in bed so as to not strain my back, and I took the pain relievers I was prescribed.

Nothing helped.

We had lost a week, and had to get back to work. I told myself to suck it up. I only had 1 year left. I’m strong, and I knew that with God’s help, I could endure.

My companion would have none of it. She made me go to the hospital.

Nicaragua is great and all, but their medical care is garbage. I told the doctor how much pain I was in, and all he did for me was hand me a ton of pills. One of those pills ended up being a very strong sedative that knocked me out for 2 days. Even that didn’t remove the pain. I went back to the hospital, and the doctor told me there was literally no other option. They didn’t have the medical care I need, and he told me to go home.

That night, sad and with nothing to do, I picked up a church magazine and read an article on patience – a virtue that I have always been lacking. The article was about a missionary being extended a medical release and him asking why. There was one phrase in there that really hit me:

“The Lord cares just as much about His instrument as He does about the task at hand.”

I spent all my time thinking about the people of Nicaragua. I focused on the work. The only time I thought about myself was when I asked God what else I could improve in order to be a better missionary. I told myself my mission wasn't about me - it was about the people. 

Turns out it was about me.

My mission president called me in to talk to me the next day. He told me I can’t continue wasting time laying in the house, that there is work that needs to be done, and I am impeding it. He asked me what I thought was best. I was sobbing as I told him I knew I needed to go home. We then filled out the medical release request and sent it to Salt Lake. I got on a plane 4 days later.

My mission president asked me if I had any questions for him. I did.

Why did I receive such strong revelation to go on a mission if I was just going to get sent home 6 months into it?

Here’s what he told me: Satan will try to tell me that I was a failure. He will try to tell me that I didn’t do anything in Nicaragua and it was all a waste of time. He told me to reject those thoughts the second they come into my head. He assured me that I did my part. I worked hard, and I learned more of the love my Heavenly Father has for me.

When I got home, I asked my stake president the same thing.

He told me that the time I spent in the field is irrelevant. This is about me following my Savior. By accepting the call to go on a mission, I showed Him quite a bit of faith and willingness to do as He says. But coming home early after falling in love with the mission - that shows even more of my willingness to follow Him.

This is by far the hardest thing I have ever had to go through. Saying goodbye to the people in Nicaragua broke my heart. They all gave me tight hugs and thanked me for my testimony and service.

They also all said the exact same thing: God has plan for you.

After hearing it about 30 times, it started to stick.

There is a reason I’m home. I have no idea what that reason is, but I am along for the ride to find out.

My faith in God is the strongest it has ever been. I know He loves His children and gives them just what they need.

I always told my investigators that life is hard, but that God helps us through it all.

I guess it’s time for me to learn that for myself.

Getting home last night was surprisingly peaceful. I hugged my family with tears in my eyes, but was immensely grateful for their support. I was extended a medical release by my stake president, then took off my nametag. My time as a missionary has been put on pause. Depending on what the doctors say, I may be able to return to missionary service. That is my hope and prayer, but I also trust in the will of the Father. He knows best.

Now, I’m in Tucson, freezing cold. I went from 95 degrees and intense humidity to a super dry 51 degrees. My body is slowly adjusting.

I slept in my sister’s room last night so I felt like I still had a companion.

My heart longs for Nicaragua, and I hope I find myself back there soon.

But for now, I need to take care of my health and find the reason why I’m home.

Love, Lauren