2017 in Photos

The year started with a goodbye to my dear Romney Branch. I felt welcome and accepted there from day one, and my testimony of the Savior grew SO MUCH from fellowshipping with these people. Attending that branch taught me that I don't have to have anything in common with someone to consider them a friend, but it's also easier to find things in common with people than you'd think. 

My reason for leaving Romney was to serve as an AmeriCorps VISTA in my very favorite place. Being a VISTA has been the most rewarding, frustrating, and fun labor of my life so far. I love the other VISTAs and the staff at my site - there's nothing like being surrounded by people who've chosen to serve. I'm soooo excited to have the opportunity to serve as a VISTA Leader later this year. I've also been able to volunteer in my "free time" as an advocate for children in foster care, which is my lifelong passion.

Speaking of cool people who've chosen to spend 24/7 serving, I've been fortunate enough to continue convincing missionaries to call me their friend. 

Aarin & Chatlen were the best dang counselors a Young Womens' President could ever need. ;) Before I left Romney, they gave me a priesthood blessing that has carried me through some really challenging moments.

Weekly visits with Patty and the missionaries were one of my favorite things about this year! It was sad to watch Patty's health decline, but it's been amazing to see how much a simple visit and receiving the sacrament can brighten her day.

Adam and Koby made being in Morgantown again "okay" until it became "great." (Morgantown is my favorite place, but transitioning to life there as not-a-student with not-my-old-callings was lonely.) I'll always be grateful for their friendship & the fact that Adam only judged me a little for calling him a badass son of God.

Austin, Elder Sandlin, and Krugs (center below) helped me SO MUCH with one of the hardest ongoing trials of my life. I honestly expected to be judged when I opened up to them about it all, but all three of them were nothing but loving. They also helped me rediscover my love for Indian food. (: 

I'll also choose this random space to give a shout-out to Elders Howe and Kent, two Motown ZLs who made my days brighter but haven't yet coughed up any of our photos.

Elder Cornwall and Elder Estes are two of the most compassionate, caring, and crazy missionaries I've ever met. I thoroughly enjoy the spiritual and emotional boost I get every time I spend time with them & appreciate their choice to befriend a weird old lady like me. ;) 

As I've grown to love Morgantown again, I've had the tremendous blessing of reconnecting and becoming closer with both my old friends from church and some new ones too. The Morgantown University Ward members are my people. (Especially the Relief Society! Never thought I'd say that...) When I was first called to the Relief Society Presidency my instinct was like "???" but my heart leapt for joy, and that's pretty much how it's gone.

These particular old-and-new-again friends deserve a special shout-out... 

One of the very best parts of 2017 was that one of my all-time favorite missionaries came back to visit for a day! He also got married this year, which is cool for him but a little bit lame. (*cough*marriedpeopleareboring*cough*) It was fantastic to hang out with one of my very best friends for a day. 

Note to any other RMs reading this: VISIT!!!! 

Last and most importantly, please enjoy some literal family photos. I love my family. (: 

The Prodigal Blogger

I haven't used this blog in a long time. I guess I've been getting out all of my desire for blogging (and then some) with the institute blog. 

The experiences I've had in the past eight months have been valuable, but many of them were things I didn't feel comfortable posting for the world to see. Now that some time has passed and I've gained a broader perspective, I'm ready to talk about some of those things.

First:

On August 7th - the two year anniversary of my confirmation as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints - my grandmother passed away. I had known for several months that it was coming. She had fallen in her apartment and broken her hip, and the surgeries and recovery process weakened her to a state where she was in constant pain and confined to a hospital bed. 

Losing my grandmother, who was one of the greatest role models, was a painful loss, but I've been able to take comfort in understanding the Plan of Salvation. I know that my grandmother lived a full life and that she'll forever be remembered by everyone who knew her. She wasn't the kind of person who can easily be forgotten. 

She lived a life full of trials, including childhood poverty, the death of her first child, and a painful lifelong disability, but she was a woman who was full of joy. She never tried to fit in or mold herself to anyone else's expectations, and she taught me to love myself in the same way. I wouldn't be the person I am today if I hadn't known her, and I know that I'll have the opportunity to be with her for eternity. I've been to the temple nearly every month since just before she died, and it's given me a great sense of peace.

Second: 

Ever since I was baptized, I've wanted to serve a mission. I always knew that it was unlikely that I would be permitted to serve, but for over two years, I felt the desire to do so pull on my heart. It was on my mind almost every day, others told me I should consider it, and I honestly felt like it was what God wanted me to do. After fighting it for years, I finally approached my bishop in September and hesitantly asked if it would be possible. To my shock, the answer was "yes."

Wait... yes!?

That wasn't the answer I was expecting, but both my bishop and my stake president confirmed that, even with my disability, I could serve a full-time mission. I prayed and considered my options for about a week, and decided I would go. I knew there would be challenges, but it was what God wanted and what I wanted, so I threw myself into preparing to serve.  

Then, just as I was about ready to go, the answer I and everyone else was getting from Heavenly Father changed. After months of promptings to go serve a mission, I suddenly got a big fat "STOP!" It surprised me, but I knew that serving a mission really wasn't what God would have me do.

I was saddened because I had a desire to serve and I thought I could contribute (both to the people I would meet and to the Church's perception of people with disabilities), but more than anything, I was confused about why I and so many others had felt led down one path only to then find out it was wrong. Overcoming that experience took time. I never lost my trust in God, but I lost my trust in myself. I thought that I must have acted on something other than a prompting of the Holy Ghost, but I couldn't distinguish between the prompting to serve a mission and any other personal revelation I had received. 

To explain how I got past that, I'm simply going to share a Mormon Message with you. 

So, all of this brings us through August, September, October, and the beginning of November. 

Third: 

Throughout all of this, a close friend of mine had been gradually wandering down a dangerous path. He didn't do anything morally wrong, but he developed an acute mental illness that culminated in a life-threatening situation. I won't go into much detail about it, because it isn't my story to tell, but it had a significant impact on me. Beginning in November, I recognized that what I had thought was just an odd pattern of behavior was, in reality, very serious. 

For over a month, I dedicated nearly all of my time that wasn't spent in a classroom to caring for my friend. During that time, I felt a closer relationship with the Savior than I ever have at any other time. I received multiple priesthood blessings assuring me that I was doing the right thing, and I felt the love that God has for my friend being poured out through me. I have no regrets whatsoever and would do it all again with no hesitation if my friend needed it, but I sacrificed my own self-care in favor of caring for another person. 

Given my own physical weakness, there was a significant price to pay for making that sacrifice. For nearly three months after my friend no longer needed my help, my body insisted that I catch up on its basic needs, particularly sleep. Six weeks of sleeping for two to three hours a night was traded in for two months of sleeping for twelve to sixteen hours a day. Only now, after three months, do I feel like my body has completely recovered, but I've never doubted for a moment that it was worth it. 

I certainly wasn't a perfect friend, and there were many days when I probably made my friend's burden heavier instead of lighter, but I've learned so much about myself, about Christ, and about our loving Heavenly Father. I would have preferred to have learned those lessons without someone I love suffering so greatly. Nonetheless, I'm grateful to have had the experience of being there for my friend during that time. (He's been there for me through some pretty tough trials, too.) 

Where Am I Now?

Right now, I'm trying to gain a sense of direction and figure out exactly what it is that God would have me do. School this semester has been hard... really hard. I'm already at a physical disadvantage, and the choices I made last semester (although awesome) have made it even harder. I'm looking for a job so I can feel productive and earn some money over the summer, but I haven't had any luck at finding a part-time job I'm capable of doing without a degree. For now, my life mostly consists of fulfilling my church callings (ward missionary and institute president) and building friendships with some fantastic people. I've been focusing on the temple (a friend and I have gone to the baptistry at the DC temple every month) and on developing my relationship with Heavenly Father through prayer. I've grown up a whole lot in both temporal and spiritual maturity, and I feel a great hope for the future, both in this mortal life and beyond.

Full disclosure: I wrote the first two sentences of this post in early November, and I'm finally posting it in March. 

It's Okay - Call Me Wheels

I had been in Morgantown for almost two weeks when it happened.

I was wandering around campus in between my classes, searching for the well-hidden access ramps to buildings I hadn't yet explored, when someone I'd met at church the previous week shouted my name and ran across the street to join me.

In the hour that followed, he became my first friend in my new home. We talked about Kim Possible, life on a farm vs. life in a city, and what it meant to be a Mormon at a party school. Our conversation was hilariously awkward, just like any first conversation should be, and shortly before we parted ways, he asked "the question." 

For years, I dreaded "the question." I resented my disability, and talking about what happened to me was the last thing I ever wanted to do.

In the months after my baptism and before I moved to Morgantown, as my life was turned upside down and I learned more than I'd ever wanted to know about myself, I had come to accept my disability and to feel at peace with its cause. But I hadn't had to talk about it -- everyone in my small town already knew, and the handful of people I'd met hadn't been interested in the details. 

My initial response to "the question" that day... well, it wasn't so great. I said something like "It's called Charcot-Marie-Tooth and it's kind of like muscular dystrophy but not really... and there's nothing wrong with my teeth." 

My new friend chuckled somewhat nervously at the tooth comment and asked if I'd always been in a wheelchair. "No, I could walk until I was eleven. I had to have surgery and the doctor screwed up and I couldn't walk anymore after that." 

He hesitated for a moment before making his next comment: "So after that you still converted? I don't know if I would have been able to do that."

Long pause. "Well... I decided eight years of bitterness was enough for me."

"Really? I think I would have gone for at least twelve."

And just like that, talking about it became okay. The spell of silence about my disability was broken. I was damaged, I was healing, and it was okay to laugh.

The word "cripple" entered my everyday vocabulary, and it felt right. The sassy t-shirt that screams "hey, my legs don't work and I can laugh about it so you can too" was pulled out of the closet.

Eventually, the friend who had so awkwardly asked "the question" that first time began calling me Wheels (it could have at least been more original, for crying out loud) and making cripple jokes of his own, and every time I hear one I'm reminded of that pivotal moment.

No, my feet don't work.

No, I don't want to go for a run.

Yes, it's funny because I'm in a wheelchair.

Yes, I'm finally okay. 

Trial of My Faith

On August 6, 2011, I was baptized as a follower of Christ and a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

On August 5, 2012, I was prepared to resign my membership in the Church.

How did I get from point A to point B in one year? How did I go from being sure of my decision to be baptized to wanting to throw it all away? How could anyone have a major crisis of faith after just a year?

There were several factors, but looking back, the one that felt the most painful to me at that time was family.

My religion places a huge emphasis on families. Our temples are all about enabling families to be together forever in Heaven. We're taught that motherhood is a gift, and that having a family is one of the most important things we can do in this life. That focus on families as the center of everything is great -- at least, it's great for other people. As an ideal, I agree with it, but when it comes to me... I'd rather not hear it.

On that day -- August 5th -- the Relief Society in the family ward I attended at the time sang the song that I refer to in my journal as "That Stupid Song." It wasn't an uncommon hymn in that ward. (Thank goodness my student ward has better taste...) On that day, I couldn't even bear to write the name of the hymn. "Families Can Be Together Forever."

I remember saying "not this again" as we turned to it in the hymnals. Before the first verse was over, I was crying, and by the end of the song, I was fleeing the church. I spent fifteen minutes sitting in my car in the church parking lot, sobbing, half-hoping someone would notice but fully prepared to scream at anyone who came near me.

Finally, I pulled myself together enough to drive. I was supposed to be following the missionaries to a member's house for dinner, but as we left, I had no plans of ending up anywhere that Mormons were. Hearing that song at that moment was the final straw for me. I was going to leave the Church, go back to my old ways, and hope that doing so would magically fix the problems that really existed long before my baptism. I didn't know what else to do.

This is what I wrote that evening:

I don’t know what made me choose to go with them. Each time they turned, I thought to myself “I can wait and make up my mind at the next intersection” and followed them. At the next-to-last turn, I thought “okay, when they turn onto the last street, I can go straight, and this will be over.” Then they turned… and I followed them.

I went into the house. I listened to what the missionaries and the Muellers had to say — I didn’t comment, but I listened, and I remembered. I remembered the love I’ve felt from my Heavenly Father, I remembered the day I accepted Christ as my Savior, and I remembered the day I was blessed to have the Spirit with me always.

It still hurts. Oh, it hurts. I suffer every day, and I can’t honestly say that I love this church. But I do know the restored gospel is true, and I do know I’m a better person today because I accepted my Heavenly Father and my Savior one year ago.

Six months later, it still hurts. I'm not sure if the pain of the word "family" will ever completely fade. I still have moments of pain and anger and weakness, but I am beginning to heal. I do love this church. It's taught me the things that I needed to learn in order to allow Heavenly Father to change my life, and that change has been incredible. The sadness is every bit as real as it was that Sunday afternoon, but it isn't as acute. I survived that trial of my faith.

Today, I'm grateful for this church. I'm grateful for the gospel. I'm grateful for the family that accepted a lost teenage girl with open arms and open hearts, and for the family that raised me to be the person I am today. I'm grateful for the missionaries who helped me, even without knowing it. Most of all, I'm grateful for Christ. I know that no matter how much "That Stupid Song" hurts my heart, He is the one person who can completely understand my brokenness and love me anyway. He's felt this pain. The Atonement is real.

My testimony.

At the beginning of the year, I decided that near the beginning of each of the next twelve months I would record my testimony in my journal. The idea is that at the end of the year, I'll be able to read those twelve journal entries and see how my testimony has developed throughout 2013. Obviously, right now I'm on month two, and I wrote the entry for February last Sunday. What's interesting to me is that my testimony has already noticeably grown in just the past seven days.

My "February Testimony" talks about the power of Heavenly Father to change lives. As a convert who struggled with living the commandments for a while after my baptism, that's something that has weighed heavily on my mind, and as I've finally begun to recognize the fruition of my efforts in the past few months, my testimony of that principle has blossomed. I put in the blood, sweat, and tears to get to where I am today, but all of that would have been for naught without my loving Heavenly Father's guidance. Just thinking about where I was spiritually four years ago, two years ago, eighteen months ago, and even six months ago compared to today allows me to know that God exists and that He can do incredible things with our lives when we become humble enough to allow Him to have control.

In the past week, I've learned that Heavenly Father can change lives in another way as well. I had an experience this week that I'm reluctant to talk about in detail because of how sacred it is to me, but it cemented my testimony of my Heavenly Father's love for me. Once again, I gathered the courage to ask for His help. Just as in the first example, I was driven to do so out of desperation -- I was backed into a corner and had nowhere else to turn. This time, the struggle wasn't with sin, but I was still trying to deal with it on my own, refusing to admit that I needed Him. When I finally humbled myself enough to request Heavenly Father's help, I received a blessing that far surpassed what I expected, asked for, or even dared to hope. As He had before, God accepted my humble plea for help and turned it into something so miraculous that I still haven't fully comprehended its scope.

I know that God exists, I know that He loves me, and I know that He answers prayers. I prayed for help, and He changed my life. He doesn't ask for much, and the blessings He gives in return are great.

I say this in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

I'm grateful for failed plans.

A year ago, I was ready to leave West Virginia and start over. I had been accepted to college in Utah. I had friends there. I knew that going there would allow me to put my past behind me and immerse myself in my religion, surrounded by people who shared my beliefs and values.

Obviously, that didn’t happen. As always, or so it felt, I ended up in the place I least wanted to be. Many of the most painful days of my life were spent in this city. People I never wanted to see again lived here. It was a party school, and I wanted nothing to do with it. The “new me” didn’t belong here.

In Morgantown, I’m not surrounded by the gospel. There are fifty members of my religion attending my school, instead of thousands. There are bottles of liquor in my kitchen, cigarette butts on the floor outside my door, and a bloodstain in the hallway. The people I attend class with, work with, and see every day don’t believe the same things I do. There’s nobody here who cares if I say my prayers or read my scriptures. If I stopped going church, two or three people might call me, but the vast majority of the people I interact with day-to-day would neither know nor care.

Every day — every moment — I have to make a decision. The decision isn’t made for me, by social pressure or a church-run school or a cultural assumption that everyone believes what I believe. Here, I have the opportunity to exercise my agency at all times. I could get up in the morning, put on a mini skirt and tank top, and go to class, and nobody would think anything of it. (Okay, that’s probably not true today.) I could stop by the campus bookstore in between my classes and buy a coffee, like everyone else. I could buy cigarettes, drink alcohol, do drugs, or have sex, and I wouldn’t stand out. I could put away my scriptures, pierce just about anything I was brave enough to put a needle through, and never worry about going to the temple or taking sacrament, and for all but a handful of people, it would be no big deal.

Would I have made as many bad decisions as I have in the past six months if I’d been in Utah? Probably not. Doing the right thing might not be easy there, but it wouldn’t take as much effort. There wouldn’t be as much of a daily, conscious choice between living the gospel according to my beliefs or living like everyone else, because at least half of the people there would be living at least partially according to my beliefs. I wouldn’t have made as many bad decisions, but I wouldn’t have made as many decisions at all. Reading the scriptures daily, going to institute classes three days a week, and living the commandments as well as I can wouldn't have been something I had to work to make myself do, and by working for it, I've come to appreciate it in a way I otherwise wouldn't have.

When I’m asked about WVU and I say I love it here, I’m not just saying that to be positive about where I ended up. I love it here! It isn’t perfect. It’s hard and it’s lonely, but it’s exactly where I belong. I would have grown in Utah, but somehow, in the midst of all the darkness, I grew even stronger here.

Life-Changing Words

"Not all Christians are good. Not all good people are Christian. It’s a gospel of love, not selectivity."

I received that text message on July 20, 2009, shortly after 1:00 PM. It was mere days before my best friend was set aside to serve a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, an event for which I had absolutely no positive feelings. As an atheist, I firmly believed my friend was throwing away two years of his life for an empty cause, and resented the slightly mysterious "church leadership" that had called him to do it. Despite my steadfast antagonism, deep down, I was beginning to consider the possibility that there might be a god, although my opinion of that maybe-god was that it had fallen asleep at the wheel at best. 

On that day, my best friend and I were texting about that "maybe-god." I was not even willing to consider that the "Christian god" of condemnation and hellfire was anything other than a story parents told to frighten their children into good behavior, but I was gradually learning that my friend's beliefs were not all that similar those of the Christians I had previously known. In answer to a joking (or perhaps not) comment he made about turning me into a Christian, I pointed out that I wasn't "good enough" to be a Christian - I would have been a walking contradiction to Christian standards, had I been able to walk. I could never hope to fit in with any body of people whose common feature was their adherence to a set of rules, nor did I want to. 

His reply was lighthearted, a reminder that no Christians were perfect and that the real gospel was about love and not a competition to be the most pious person in the church. He didn't intend for his words to stick with me throughout the rest of my life - he doesn't even remember saying them - yet they became the most important words anyone has ever spoken to me. 

Those words remind me that being Christian, and particularly being Mormon, is more than following commandments and making the right decisions. It's about feeling the pure love of Christ and continually striving to apply it to my life. The true God is not a god of hatred, and the gospel is not about judgment and condemnation. The key to being a "good Christian" isn't being able to memorize and obey a list of commandments. It's about allowing love to guide our every action.