It Started With a Prayer

When I go through the divorce story in my mind, it always begins with a prayer  -- or rather, a blessing. Members of the LDS faith believe that personal and direct communication with a loving Heavenly Father can occur in a variety of different ways. Priesthood blessings are one of those ways. They are generally used to heal the sick, to comfort the discouraged, and to provide counsel and direction to those who might be facing difficult decisions or trying circumstances. The blessing-giver will say whatever he feels moved upon by the Holy Spirit to say. I was always taught to take Priesthood blessings seriously, as if God himself was speaking.

Before entering the MTC in 2006, I received a Priesthood blessing from my Stake President. He blessed me with strength, love, conviction, and the patience to seek out those who were ready to hear the restored Gospel of Jesus Christ.

Then the blessing changed gears. I was told that on my mission I would develop many friendships, and as a result of these friendships I would meet my eternal companion.

When the blessing was over I felt completely startled. I was almost 24 years old and never had a real boyfriend, never believed I would ever have the chance to get married. But there, in my blessing, God promised me a husband if I kept up my end of the bargain and served a mission.

I’ll be honest here. I used to tell people that becoming rich and famous was my secret dream, that I wanted servants and expensive foods and a fleet of foreign cars with names I can’t even pronounce. The truth is, I said those things so I wouldn’t have to feel disappointed if Mr. Right never came along.

I wanted to marry a good man in the Temple and have children.

 A family of my very own.

The idea of marriage meant permanence and security. It meant having a place in the world where I would always be loved. This was my secret wish, the dream I harbored like a fragile bird, and here God was offering me a way to get it. Things seemed so simple back then: do my time, claim my blessing, badda bing, badda boom. Easy, right?

Except it wasn’t easy. Being a full-time LDS missionary was a brutal experience. Tempe was hot. Most of the people there were suspicious and unkind to us. I was still engaged in a life-long brawl with Social Anxiety Disorder, so knocking on doors and having random conversations on the street with strangers felt more like harassment and less like proclaiming the gospel. Every day was a struggle for me to speak out loud. My mission president had no faith in me. The APs thought I was dead weight and were constantly moving me around to fill space. I had companions tell me I was a slacking coward. The church’s mission psychologists in Salt Lake City constantly called our apartment to tell me I should give up the fight and go home. I felt like a pariah – unwanted, broken, and completely alone.

I am committed to expressing authentic feelings on this blog, so I’m going to tell the truth even if some people find it offensive. For me, serving a mission was one of the most degrading and humiliating experiences of my entire life.

I stayed and finished the 18 months because God’s promise of a husband saw me through. The only thing that got me out of bed in the mornings was unconditional faith in God’s plan for my life. I would have done anything to claim the blessings of eternal marriage, even if it meant suffering and pain. At the end of it all I would get my husband, and have my family.

Honestly, I would have done anything.