Thankful

I guess it shouldn't have surprised me that yet again my thoughts reverted to 'what might have been' today as I reflected on what I was thankful for.

I promise, that although it may seem that all I do is think about what it is I have experienced this year, I am not constantly focused on the difficult but rewarding experience that I had at the beginning of the year with the hospital visit and returning home early from my mission. Often I am simply in a very contemplative mood when I feel the need to type up what I am thinking... and often it seems to come back to what I have experienced this year, and what I have learned.

So, yet again, I'm going to reflect on what it is that I have learned, because it's my blog... and I promised honesty here. So yes, I'm still dealing with the experience that has been this year. As hard as that may be to comprehend to some, because everyone who I speak with sees me as 'past' that experience, it is still part of who I am- of what I go through every day. This is all part of learning, I think. Maybe that's just what I say to make myself feel better.

Okay, longwinded apology/awkward defensive paragraph over. I have something to say, and I'll say it.

A year ago I started having the dreams.

I was a few weeks into the horrible nausea and the diarrhea, and finding blood when I went to the bathroom. The headaches and fevers hadn't come yet, and I was continuing to work as though nothing was wrong- as much as I could, anyways. I had not been successful in getting any medical attention besides taking omneprazole, an antacid medication, and going on rice and clear liquid diets, which helped me for a couple of days at least.

Anyways, nothing was adding up to seem very serious yet at this point. I was in Bayonne, with an incredible companion who was such a blessing to me. I felt like I had finally hit my stride- missionary work was becoming part of who I was, not simply something I was struggling to complete every day. My conversations with God were more real. I was praying to not be what I wanted to be anymore, but rather what He wanted me to be- I wanted to be a pure instrument, a complete tool in his hands. I did not want to say anything to His children that came from my own thoughts, I wanted it all to be directly from Him. I desired this with all of my heart, to the point that I often ended my prayers laying on the ground because I had been praying for so long and with so much energy.

It's amazing how tired you are as a missionary- falling asleep whenever you have the blessed chance to sit anywhere is a common practice. You come home at night after a day full to the brim of walking and talking and working, no breaks. Hardly ever, really. You immediately hit your knees after running into the house because you wanted to make sure you didn't come in late for curfew (obedience truly brings blessings and miracles), pray to know what to plan for the next day, and spend 1/2 hour delving into a 13 step plan of what to do and where to go and who to spend time with for the next day, all the while striving to stay reverent and understand the subtle whisperings that come from the Spirit of God, telling His servants where they will be needed most. You complete the planning session, kneel to pray again (prayer callouses on my knees came after only a few weeks as a missionary), and often, you end up staying on the ground, too exhausted to stand up and get ready for bed. My companion and I would lay there in our Bayonne, NJ apartment and talk about the day. We would stare into each others faces and cry as we processed some of the hurt and the difficulties we were experiencing. We would lay there and write in our journals, relishing the joy and excitement over pure miracles that God had given us.  We would laugh on our stomachs, the pressure of our diaphragms bouncing us up and down and causing even more raucous laughter to escape our mouths as we dreaded standing up and putting pressure again on our aching feet, even if only for long enough to carry us from the front room where we studied and planned to the back room where we changed and slept.

That was the room, though, where, one morning, with the bleak yet somehow bright early winter sunlight pouring through the window, I broke the silence during my companion's and my first hour of study. I had been sleeping just fine- it was never a problem because I was always so exhausted- but I had been dreaming.

One dream had been me, on a plane. In the dream, I knew it was not yet time for me to go, but nevertheless I was aware that I was flying back home to Boise. Another dream was me, walking around my house with people milling around me, all laughing and celebrating as they ate food and welcomed me home with warm smiles. Yet again, in this dream I had the unmistakeable void inside of me that was the missing answer as to why I was home- I knew I was home early, I knew my mission had ended early. And I knew that it was over. Then, the dream of my MTC teacher, looking me square in the face, and shaking my hand as he asked, "Hermana Millward, did you do everything you needed to do?" And me responding, with what seemed my entire being and a huge smile spread across my face, "Yes, Hermano Johnson. I did everything the Lord asked me to do."

The morning I broke the silence during our personal study time, I had been reading in the Book of Mormon, focusing on patience- because that is what I felt the Lord would have me study next. I had been caught up in a moment of pondering, and I could ignore no longer the feelings these dreams had been leaving me with- they seemed to be more than just dreams to me. I felt like they were a connection to something in my future that I did not understand. I couldn't shake it off anymore. I had had dreams of being home before then, but these were different.

So I opened my mouth.

"Sister Larsen," I stared out the window as my companion's face turned to mine, "I'm going home soon, and I don't know why."

As soon the words were uttered, a shocked but heavy silence ensued, followed by us both denying them, me only halfheartedly doing so.

I tried to believe us. I almost did. But nevertheless I could feel that the Lord was trying to communicate with me through the dreams I was having.

Three months later, I was on a plane home with my mother a row behind me, after two weeks of talking to multiple neurologists who were all completely at a loss for what the inflammation they had found in my brain actually meant, and all this six months before I ever thought I would be heading home, and with far less prospects for the bright and vivacious future I had always planned on.

God prepares us to help us be successful.

Anyways... today, as we went around the table before partaking of the rich feast of traditional Thanksgiving dishes that were laid out so magnificently before us, we were all stating one thing we were grateful for. I love my family, and I love our traditions. I dreaded sounding melodramatic when I said it, but I could think of nothing else I was more grateful for, as I looked at my plate, and then into my father's piercing blue eyes, and quietly stated, "I am grateful that I just got back from a run, and that I can still move. I am grateful today for the fact that I have the life and bright future I always planned on having, that I almost didn't have."

So, although I still have random hurty moments, when I feel confused as to why it all happened, or unexpected emotional relapses when I hear a story of someone becoming suddenly ill or when I run into a friend who I hadn't seen since that time in my life, I truly am grateful for where I am today. I felt like I was on fire as I ran around the town that I came home to in such a broken state only months ago. I am finally running about a mile and a half with no problems- no ill effects afterwards. And I am doing so well in my schoolwork- it is just as fulfilling as it always was for me. I got a 100% on my chemistry test on Monday, and I couldn't have been happier :) I love the fulfilling social life I am able to experience now as well. And I can say yes when friends as me to go on a hike or play sports.

I am thankful for what the Lord has blessed me with- the bounteous life I took so for granted before this year.

I am thankful for the reflective moments that help me to comprehend the lessons the Lord is still teaching me from this experience, and for the empathy I am capable of that before was not part of who I was.

I am thankful for it all- the hard and the simple. I am thankful to serve God exactly where and how He would have me serve. And I have thought, that even if I hadn't been given the opportunity for the life I always expected to have, if I had ended up in a wheelchair with a neurological diagnosis to change the course of my life, I surely hope I would still be grateful, grateful that the Lord had a clear place He wanted me to serve in. The Lord knows our own needs and strengths and developmental priorities much better than we do- and I hope that I would trust and love Him more for that. I plan on doing that for the rest of my life, no matter where He places me.

Happy Thanksgiving.