What makes a mission so important? Serving a mission for the Church to everyone is a big deal. Many of us grow up with people talking about how we will serve a mission someday, where we might be called, how important it is for us to serve. But, honestly…serving a mission was, isn’t and, as far as I know, never will be a required aspect of the church so the importance of it is all upon the individual and those who feel that person should serve.

Was I pressured to serve my mission? I was never pressured to serve my mission by anyone, it was fully my choice. The pressure came from me interpreting my worth as a person, as a member of the church, as a son, and brother.

Do I regret choosing to serve a mission? Never in my life will I say I regret serving my mission.

Having left Miss Handsy in the parking lot, my family and I do not immediately head home. We spent a few days somewhere else in Idaho with my dad’s side of the family for a bit of a vacation. My father’s side of the family do not all live in the same states as we do at the time. Only one of his brothers lives close to us. His parents other brothers and sisters all live in Colorado, Illinois, or Indiana at this time. We are all still babies me being still only 18 at the time, the oldest grandchild and there are about 10 or so additional grandkids after me. The age gap between me and the next oldest is a 3-year gap so it is not a large gap but large enough at the time that I was not one who had a cousin that I was close with. I either would need to be less mature with the cousins or more mature with my aunts and uncles.

Oh, the joys of being a misfit.

This vacation was enjoyable, lots of time playing foosball, ping pong, watching movies, making dinner with the family is always fun but I was still on the outs, for when it got down to everyone just doing their own thing or spending time with others when we had no plans…everyone drifted to those closer to their age or the adults took naps or just talked.

My favorite part of the whole trip was the horseback ride we got to take to a spot where we had dinner after. Everyone got to ride their own horse and I was quite happy to be back on a horse. Back in the summer after my sophomore year of high school, I went on a 9-day horse trek. Those 9-days I was on my own in the care of a horse that was a bit of a pain in the butt. A few days into the trip after a bit of a health scare I was really able to bond with that horse and enjoyed the rest of my trip.

Back to the vacation with family I just loved being back on a horse and enjoyed running it and jumping and just riding. There is something quite therapeutic to me about riding a horse. I do not see myself really ever owning a horse in my life as I know the care and maintenance of a horse is a lot more than I would be able to handle.

Something about the trip that is still a blur to me more than anything is that I know I discussed my mission call a lot with my dad’s side of the family. None of them are members of the church though they are religious or at least have moral values that they uphold. No, I am not saying my father’s side of the family is horrible people. They are just not as involved in religion as my family is and the value of a mission or a mission, in general, is a bit foreign to them.

Serving a mission to me at the time was important. My father is a convert to the church, my mother had been not active for a while…it was missionaries who brought her back and taught my dad and baptized him. They were the start of my family being in the church and bringing my family joy. I wanted to do the same for other people who did not know what I knew.

Little did I know that what I thought I knew was not in any way what I actually knew.

Everyone that chooses to serve a mission is involved in the church in many ways and has interviews with church leadership, often we attend mission preparation classes for a time with others that are going to serve soon where we begin to learn about the mission, what missionaries do, the lessons they teach and more about how to teach the gospel and not just learning it for ourselves.

I took the classes, had the interviews, reviewed the lessons, went with our local missionaries to teach lessons or observe them teaching lessons. I did all the things and I knew there was something that I felt was not really clicking for me. I would not really ever know what it was until I was on my mission.

In addition to that preparation, there was also the involvement of preparing to live in Washington D.C. for two years. Housing would be taken care of, transportation as well. I would do my own shopping with the stipend that missionaries are given…but I needed to take personal items and clothing with me. Shopping to me now is a lot more fun than that experience. I am skinny…very skinny at this time so suit jackets, white shirts and slacks never really fit me the way that I liked them to. I almost always looked like I was swimming in my clothes. Yes, they fit, but not well.

“Don’t worry, you’ll gain weight in your mission and will need to get bigger clothes before you come home,” my mom would say. It is common for missionaries to put on weight while they serve their missions. (jokes on her, I left on my mission, gained 10lbs, lost 15lbs then gained back the 5lbs) I left at 120lbs and came home the same weight. AND I came home with a whole new suit, shirt and shoes that fit me better and the way I wanted them to.

Back to the lack of something…what I really was missing was a testimony of the gospel that I was learning and have been called to teach. Everyone should have one, not everyone does and that includes missionaries. I could have sworn I had a testimony then, and maybe I did, but it was not strong and it was mostly my parents.

A large lack of my testimony at the time I would say was because I did not feel I truly fit into the life that I was living. The circles that I belonged to, church or school. As I had been telling myself for years by now that I was wrong, broken, needed help, and could not get it from others as this was my fault for being the way that I was.

I know now that I could not be more wrong. Believe me, I know that.

After all the preparation there comes the day when I am set apart as a missionary by the Stake President. This means that by the time I am set apart I am to follow missionary rules and guidelines so this happens typically the evening before missionaries leave on their missions. This is also accompanied usually by a father’s blessing as this would be the last one that I get for two years until I return home. That evening was emotional to say the least; my immediate family was there, the Stake President and his wife, my Bishop and his wife, and a couple close family friends.

Everyone gave me advice for the next two years where my communication with them would be via email every week and only two phone calls a year with my immediate family. Many tears were shed but before the official blessing and setting apart was done the Stake President had one last private moment with me. Asking if there was anything that I needed to address or wanted to talk about or even if I wanted to call the whole thing off right now…

I desperately wanted to spill everything to him, tell him all about what I had been facing, how I felt like a person (or that I felt like I wasn’t one), how I felt that a mission made no sense for me to serve if I had no testimony, loved guys, and felt like a failure as a person.

I simply said no and I began my mission that evening.

I slept very little that night as I finished packing, worried about missing my flight or forgetting something important like my ID or scriptures. It was a rush of a lot of everything that day. Wake up at o’dark thirty, quickly shower, get dressed, eat breakfast without watching the news or TV as I usually did. Load up in the car and off to the airport we go. My sisters and brother were all half asleep the whole time as it was only like 5:30am when we got to the airport. We check in, check my bags and all that is left to do is go through security…I was emotionless by now, numb from everything that was going on. GIve side-hugs to the siblings, big hug to dad and mom held tight until I had to pull away cause I just wanted to get through security as that takes forever. They watch me go through and I just wave briefly as I walk to my gate…no phone, to say one more goodbye or let them even know I was getting on the plane.

Off to the Salt Lake Airport where I would meet people that would then take me to the MTC to begin my mission…no idea what it was like because as much as I thought I was prepared with the classes and times I went out with the missionaries…I was clueless as to what my mission would do for me.

Why did I not talk to the Stake President? Fear. I had over the last few years built around me such negative self-esteem and had put all my cards into serving a mission because I knew that it would finally make my parents love me again, what would make others see me as normal, accomplished, and someone worth marrying. I feel that somewhere I probably felt that I would be cured or fixed while I was on my mission from this abhorrent aspect of myself that I taught myself was wrong, immoral, and unnatural.

Did the mission make me straight? I think the fact that this blog exists should answer that pretty clearly, but in short, nope! As gay as I ever have been!

Would I change my answer to the Stake President if I were to relive that portion of my life? Nope! I think my answer then was the safest answer for me and my life. There are a lot of uncertainties and “ifs” around that that I do not want to follow that train of thought as it would all be speculation of how the Stake President would have reacted, how my parents would have reacted, and the actions they would have taken.