Losing and Finding Yourself

Serving a mission changes you… if you let it. This change is good… at least it was for me.

However, when you come home, you start to feel that person fading away. You’re like “Hey! What’s going on here?? I worked really hard at becoming this person. Why am I slipping away?”

I’ve had people tell me that I just need to adjust back into real life and “come back to myself”. Come back to myself?? As in, I lost myself somewhere on the mission?? You mean, go back to the person I was before the mission? The person you knew before I left? What is this tyranny!!? What’s wrong with who I am right now!!!??

I changed. I am different. I don’t want to go back to who I was before. I feel pressured to though. I’m not quite sure why I feel pressured, but it’s hard not to give in!

So, am I supposed to come home and “find myself” again? Or can I just stay awkward and be the best “spiritual, missionary minded, quoting Book of Mormon scriptures rather than current movies kind of person “I know how to be?

Perhaps the answer is this: We should constantly be losing ourselves. We shouldn’t be trying to remain “true” to our “definition” of self. We should always be losing ourselves… and finding a greater self.

We should be taking what we learned and the changes we made on to each new phase... otherwise it was all in vain! Heavenly Father will keep re-teaching us the same lessons in a different way if we aren't taking advantage of the learning experiences he is handing us.

It’s hard. It’s scary. It’s not fun! But feeling God’s love and patience for me every time I tell him I am lost… every time I tell him what my breaking heart feels… with that powerful confirmation, how can I not have the determination to move forward? When that feeling of love comes (and it does every time), I end my prayer with thanking him for all my blessing and ask him to be patient with me as I work through this mortal probation. I ask him to help me become who he created me to be.

Perhaps we will never truly "find" ourselves in this earth life. We still have so much more to learn and become hereafter.

Just remember this simple truth: I am a child of God... and all that this statement entails.

Family ward vs. Singles ward

This is a no brainer… family ward. You’re safer here. You are a frozen piece of meat in a cold environment. Let me explain.

I had a recent acquaintance tell me “Single wards may be a meat market, but that’s where the meat is”. (Frankly, I don’t like being compared to a piece of meat… even if I do love eating it.) So here’s my explanation:

If you join a singles ward you are now a raw piece of meat in a very, very warm atmosphere. You’re life span is not very long. Very soon, if you are not snatched up, eaten, bought, whatever term you want to use… you start to “spoil” and get old. No one wants a piece of meat that has been hanging out in a warm environment for ages. What’s wrong with that particular piece of meat? Why did no one eat it right away? For some reason, everyone goes for the nicely fresh cut piece that the butcher just laid out with the rest of the produce.

However, if you are single and in a family ward, we can compare you to a piece of frozen meat in a cold environment. You will not “spoil and age” as fast as a raw piece of meat. The cold environment you are in prolongs your “life”. I mean, I suppose there are some fallbacks. Since you're so cold it could take a while for you to defrost, and some people aren't patient. Aslo, you could get freezer burnt.

But in the end, family wards are safer. Besides, I’m not in the mood for meat right now… I’m satisfied with my potatoes and veggies.

So what did I do this last Sunday? I visited the singles ward. I saw a lot of old friends. Before I knew what I was doing, I signed my name up on the list of people who have music talents. I was introduced to the Bishop and handed a “new member” card to fill out.

So guess what!? I’m being taken out of the freezer and next week I am going to be raw. A very raw piece of meat indeed. This goes against everything I believe in…

I did strike a bargain with my father though. Not being in the mood to “fish”, (I mean, come on. I’m not grabbing that live worm and putting it on the hook, aka: flirting), I told him he could arrange an arranged marriage. On one condition: that he buy me a NICE baby grand piano. He’s getting very excited about this. He talked about it tonight in our family home evening when we went around the room and did our “family business” of the week. I think he’s focusing a little bit too much on the groom rather than finding the perfect baby grand.

The Dreaded Questions

You come home from your mission and people are all about asking the questions you don’t have answers to. They ask:

“So how are you!?”

Really… you don’t want to know. I don’t even know myself. Somehow it seems like a lie to say “Fine! Great!” I’m sure if I really did try to explain to someone in words what kind of emotions I go through in a day’s time, they would commit me to the psychiatric ward.

“What are your plans now that your home?”

How the heck am I supposed to know? I came home 6 months early. It wasn’t really in the fore front of my mind. I suppose I have the time now to figure it all out… but I really don’t want to. It’s nice to not have to think ahead. As a missionary all you do is think and plan and think and ponder and plan… This momentary break is nice, don’t ruin it for me.

“So have you found a job yet?”

No… and don’t ask me every single time you see me. It just reminds me that I’m poor.
I did try to make a new resume a few weeks ago… Yeah. I only got as far as finding my old one on the computer, then I quit. Believe me, it was a chore just finding that old file.

“Are you dating anyone?”

“Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!!!!!!!!” ---- my reply.
I don’t laugh because I have anything against dating or courting or engagements or marriage. I laugh because they think that I, Anna, (the quiet, reserved, awkward, anti-social girl) would be dating after only being home for 4 weeks. Let’s just get past the RM awkwardness first.