We've all heard that saying at one point or another,
usually related to relationships, and I've always believed it. I believed that
when somebody found their significant other, they just knew. People can’t explain it, they can’t make you understand what
that really means, but you can tell that they truly do just KNOW. Although I
always believed, I never expected to find out what it felt like in the way that
I did. And no, it wasn't with a significant other; I found out with my
significant calling.
It was a slow Thursday at work. I’m sitting on the stool
behind the counter, looking at the blue sky on the other side of the window. Oh, how I wished I
could be soaking up the sunshine that was out there! No one had come in for a
few hours, making each minute that passed seem like a lifetime. My mind was
clear, which was unusual because I was usually drowning in my own thoughts. I closed
my eyes for a brief moment, taking a deep breath, telling myself I could
get through this day. That’s when it happened. It was a moment that changed my
life. It was unexpected, and terrifying; so clear and so humbling. The words
struck the deepest part of my soul, and my eyes clouded over with tears.
“It’s time to serve a mission.”
_____________________________________________
Back in 2012 I sat in my basement all alone watching the
Fall session of General Conference, the rest of my family scattered throughout
the house listening. I had closed the door and was wrapped up in a blanket with my
journal and pen in hand. The announcements had always been one of my favorite
parts of conference. New temples, new leaders, the sight of the church growing,
I loved it! President Monson began, “I am pleased to announce that effective
immediately, all worthy and able young men who have graduated from high school
or its equivalent, regardless of where they live, will have the option of being
recommended for missionary service beginning at the age of 18, instead of 19…”
Excitement and shock rushed through my veins. Those were my friends he was
talking about! This was my age group of boys! We had just graduated high school
a few months prior to the session, and they could leave right now! With the
adrenaline and excitement I was feeling for my boys, the thought hadn't even crossed my
mind that the young women might be in this age change too. President Monson
continued, “As we have prayerfully pondered the age at which young men may
begin their missionary service, we have also given consideration to the age at
which a young woman might serve. Today I am pleased to announce that able,
worthy young women who have the desire to serve may be recommended for
missionary service beginning at age 19, instead of age 21.”
I froze.
In the middle of high school I had had the thought that a
mission was something I wanted to do. If it was the right thing for me by the
time I was 21, I would go. Missionary work intrigued me. It was something exciting to think about and to
talk about. Then the age change was made, and I wasn't so sure anymore. I
could put my papers in. I could serve a mission RIGHT NOW. Life got real, and
it got real, real quick.
Many girls I knew had called their bishops right then and
there, some the day after. They KNEW. But I did not, and it bothered me. I had
always planned on it, but now that it was here? It was a huge thing! Do I register
for school? Do I not? Do I put my papers in? Do I stay? I prayed and prayed and
prayed. I don’t think I had ever prayed so much in my life. And you know what?
I never got an answer. This caused me to stress out big time. I mean, registering for college is
kind of a big deal. You've got to get it done soon if you wanted to get into
the classes you needed. I had to know! I talked with my bishop and one of my
closest Institute teachers as to why I wasn't receiving an answer. They gave me amazing council and kept
reminding me that the Lord’s timing is what matters. I just had to be patient. Much easier said than done…
Life went on, I attended Institute, made the greatest
friends, began attending the singles ward, and I knew that I wasn't supposed to
serve a mission. My answer came, slowly, but surely. My dad and grandpa would
always say “When you get your call…” Or “When you turn in your papers…” or
“You’re going to serve here…” and at times it would really bother me. I had
previous bishops, family friends, random people that would say “Lex! I thought
of you specifically as soon as they made the announcement!” How was I supposed
to tell them I wasn't supposed to serve? That maybe my mission was here at home?
And then the flood of young adults began to leave. One farewell after the
other, elder, sister, elder, sister, and all my friends had gone. There I was,
stuck in life, not knowing what to do next. I wasn't huge on school, so I
worked, floating in limbo.
Fast forward almost two years. I would write my missionary
boys every week. Email after email flying into my inbox. Monday’s
had become my favorite day of the week. I could just hear how happy they were,
how much they had grown, how much they loved, and it inspired me. I would feel
every emotion through those emails. I’d laugh out loud, shed some tears, miss
them to the point it hurt, and be oh so happy for them all at the same time. Their stories were amazing, the work they were
doing was beyond incredible. The topic of a mission had floated around
conversations, and I never was able to tell them I was going. And they
respected that! They knew I had a purpose where I was in what I was doing.
________________________________
So there I was at work, on a slow Thursday. Those words
flying into my thoughts like I had just been hit with a brick. Every emotion ran through me in the matter of seconds. I didn't think it
was possible, but I’m here to tell you right now, it most definitely is. I
prayed right then and there, in my empty little store. I didn't even get all
the way through my prayer, and the most comforting feeling overcame me. This
was it. This was what I was supposed to do. I quickly set up an appointment
with my bishop for Sunday. It was the longest three days of my life. Nobody
knew except for me and my sweet Heavenly Father. Not only was it the longest
few days of my life, but it was an emotional roller coaster too.
My family was going through some really tough things, and I
didn't feel like I could just leave. Right now wasn't a good time to do that,
but the thought of serving had never seemed so right. And like two years
before, I had to remind myself that my timing isn't what mattered. The Lord
knows what I need, what the people I’ll be serving need, and what my family
needs. If I was supposed to be here with them, I would be. Not only that, but
my friends had started coming home! Leaving right as they were all preparing to
come home really hurt me. I had missed them more than I could ever explain. The
thought of not seeing them for another year and a half was just something I had
to push out of my mind. But staying home was not in the grand plan. I needed to
be somewhere else, showing people the love their Savior has for them.
Finally, Sunday rolled around. I woke up, got ready, and
headed straight to the church, praying the whole way there I wouldn't chicken
out. I know I know, bad, but I seriously was in full panic mode. It was the
greatest meeting I had ever been to though. I could see my Savior in my bishop's eyes, I could feel His love. I had
every bit of excitement the universe could put into the little atmosphere of
the bishop’s office. We laughed and we cried, and my journey began. I had never
felt so sure, so confident about anything in my entire life. It was liberating!
When I told my bishop my story about the Thursday at work, the first thing he said was “You know it’s the
right decision when aren't doing anything and the words are spoken.” And that’s when I realized, I just knew.
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