I spent a lot of time moving out of my parents' house and moving back in in my early 20s - did it at least three times.
Building Myself Back Up
The last time it happened, I was not only unemployed and deeply in financial debt to credit cards for some unwise purchases, but I got a good-sized case of shingles out of it, around one side of my back, and I couldn't even get out of bed for awhile. Felt pretty sorry for myself there.
This same period coincided with a lot of intense soul-searching and reading. I had a lot of questions I needed to get answered, and no answers were coming. I felt really stuck.
My parents and my siblings kept their patience with me during this time, and I know it must have been hard for them. I came to the decision that my three-year experiment in agnosticism had failed. I was absolutely miserable without religion and faith, and I needed to do something about it, but wasn't sure what.
My parents and my younger brother Peter in particular kept inviting me to come back to church (he was preparing to serve a mission, so I was convenient target practice for him), but I didn't feel right about that yet. I couldn't in good conscience affiliate with a faith I wasn't sure I believed in, so I keep spinning my wheels for several more weeks, although I prayed intently and read as much scripture as I could, still looking for my answers.
And then...Miracle #1
Later on, my mother needed to take my little brother and another boy from our congregation to a missionary training meeting, and she asked me if I would come along and keep her company. I didn't have anything better to do, and felt like it was a pretty low-risk situation (no one would be preaching anything at me - just to the missionaries themselves) so I agreed.
We sat out in the common area of the Church building while the two boys went into an adjacent classroom. Their trainer was from Texas, Brother Gere, a man with a booming voice. I might as well have been in the classroom with them...I could hear every word he said.
My mother fell asleep on the couch next to me, somehow, with that booming voice, and I just sat there and listened to this man telling the boys how he felt about the gospel and how he knew that God lived and loves all his children, thinking to myself, I really wish I could believe all this...
At that point, I had a sort of transcendent experience. Suddenly, someone else was there with us on the couch. Someone I couldn't see, and I felt a feeling of unbelievable love like I'd never experienced before. I felt arms around me, this hug that I never wanted to end.
At some point, that feeling faded out, and I knew then what I had to do. The answers I'd been looking for had been answered.
Starting Over
So I started back to church again, and applied to get my membership back. I had some work to do...had to sort of prove myself to the leadership that I could live the way I was supposed to live. It was challenging and embarrassing to sit and refuse the sacrament ordinance for awhile, and not be allowed to say prayers or teach classes or speak in our main meetings, but I was determined to get back what I'd given up. Whatever it took.
A Surprise
One day, I was sitting with my mother (who was thrilled at my change of heart) in the weekly women's meeting, and a young man came in. One of the ward's missionaries - they change out pretty frequently, so this one was new. His dark hair was slicked back, and contrasted with his pale skin. He had brown eyes and a big gorgeous smile, and wore a long wool coat over his suit against the cold weather outside.
He went right to the front of the room (also unusual for missionaries, who usually avoid spending time in the women's meetings or drop their eyes, like they feel like they don't belong there). He held up the calendar for the sisters to sign up to feed the missionaries, and he made the simple request.
"Sisters, please remember to feed the missionaries." Again, with this megawatt flirty grin. The sisters all laughed...it was so funny how he said it. I was totally smitten in a moment, and I turned to Mom and asked her to sign the calendar, which she did, with a smile. No fooling her what was going on. She knew me too well by then.
My mother knew, and my little sister knew. The elders came over to our house several times over the next few months, partly because my mother fed them, and partly because they were helping my brother prepare for his mission and trying to connect with my father, who also stayed away from church at this time.
When they came over, I usually left the room, or avoided them entirely. Not because I didn't like them, but because I liked Elder Zaragoza a little too much, and getting involved with a missionary would not be appropriate for a girl trying to get back in with the Lord's good graces.
He didn't notice me much at all...I found out later on from the journals he kept that the only thing he ever thought about me was that I was 'too tall' - I stood about four inches taller than him. He was focused totally on his missionary work, which was right, and I didn't want to distract him from that...as much as I DID want to.
My little sister would go up to him, and then run back to me and lord it over me. She was 11, and she thought a crush on a missionary was so funny. Elder Zaragoza actually thought my little sister was the one with the crush on him, because she would flirt with him in her little-girl way, but he didn't know she was only doing it to get to me.
And then...Miracle #2...
Eventually, he and his companion came over to say goodbye. Elder Zaragoza was going to be transferred out of our area to work somewhere else, as happened with all missionaries eventually.
While he was in the kitchen, saying goodbye to my mother and other family members, I sat on the stairs, looking at his back, feeling kind of sorry for myself. Because of the mistakes I made, I felt so damaged, and Elder Zaragoza seemed like such a great guy. Would I ever get to marry someone like that?
Again, a very similar feeling to the feeling that brought me back to church came over me, and the thought clearly crossed my mind as if someone else whispered in my ear.
"That's him."
I was bowled over, and left the spot I was standing on. I told my mother later that day that I felt pretty sure I was going to marry Elder Zaragoza, and she looked at me strangely, and said, "Why? If you do that, you'll have kids with short fingers and toes!"
It was the weirdest thing she could have possibly said to me, like I cared that he was short. We laughed about it though. Truth be told, she favored his companion better than him.
It was shortly after that that my brother Michael and his wife Christy invited me to come live with them in Washington State and help them take care of their new baby Lora, while I looked for work and a place to live. I really needed to get out of the area, so I agreed.
And he was gone, and I was gone...but the story didn't end there....
No comments:
Post a Comment