3. To Serve or Not to Serve

Growing up, half of me idolized my father and the other half feared him. In my mind, he was the one who knew everything and could accomplish anything. Whenever he gave me advice, I followed it to the T, and whenever he told me a certain way was the right way to do something, I adopted it as truth without question. Consequently, from a very early age my father had a whole plan for my entire life, and I compliantly accepted it. Sometimes when he told me of different paths we could take to give me the best future, it scared me. He would speak of me not going to normal high school, graduating early, going straight to a trade school, and having a steady well-paying job by the time I was nineteen. Even as I would sit there listening, terrified on the inside because I thought I would have to leave my friends and life behind, I would just think that if that was what my dad wanted, then I would do it because he knew best.

Luckily, that didn't happen. I had a very normal high school experience and I continued on to the college that I wanted to go to. But even though I took control of my own life, the plan I had for my future had some very similar aspects to the plan my father had laid out for me. Including the fact that the options after going to college were: try to get married as soon as possible, or go on a mission when you reached the right age and then come back and get married. So that was essentially my plan when I got to BYU. In all honesty, I never expected to serve a mission. I know it's wrong to think of it in this way, but going on a mission always had seemed like a consolation prize to me, that you only went if you failed to get married first. After spending time here though, I slowly began to see going on a mission in a new light. It seemed like everyone in my dorm was going to serve and they were all so excited about it. Seeing that the likelihood of me getting married before I turned nineteen was very slim, I decided I would serve too, but I wasn't sure it was because I wanted to go.

So there I was, having decided, but not completely sure how I felt about it, and I started making preparations and telling my friends. I opened my mission papers and the more I worked on them the more excited I got. The girls in my hall started getting their mission calls left and right. England - Mandarin speaking, Zambia - English speaking, Arizona - Spanish speaking, Ecuador, Austen Texas!!! It was all just so wonderful! I was feeling more and more confident about it until one day my best friend told me she didn't want me to go. It may sound horrible, but in that moment that she asked me to stay, I was absolutely sure I had to go. All of the sudden, the thought of not going made me so disappointed and sad. I felt like a small child sent to bed early without dessert. I didn't want to make her upset by leaving, but I just had the best feeling in the world when I thought of going. I knew how much I wanted and needed to go and it was my decision now, not my father's or anyone else's. Going on a mission was no longer a consolation prize to me, it was the grand prize, because I was going to get the opportunity to serve my Lord and preach His wonderful gospel.

I still can't submit my papers for a few more months, but I am counting down the days until then. Yeah, I guess it would have been nice to get married, but I know that serving this mission will make me a better person and an even better wife and mother some day in the future. Going on a mission may not be for everyone, but it certainly is for me.