The Gift of Being Broken

It's been a contemplative week.  I've had a lot of time to think and ponder. (Warning:  Not many pictures and I have a lot to say.  So I hope you can endure.)  We've had a stomach flu bug going through the mission and I took my turn one day. (Actually a day and a half.)  And my nearly 70 year old knees are rebelling so I've not been walking much.  Now that I have the physical complaints logged in, I'll get on with my blog.  Thank you very much for letting me unload!

What I have on my mind, I don't want you to take in the wrong way so my preface is that a mission can be the best 18 - 24 months of one's life. I hear returned missionaries say that often and I truly believe that.  It is a time to be close to the Savior and to feel the constant influence of the Holy Ghost, to love and serve your fellow man, and to grow spiritually in the Gospel.  It is a blessing to be able to teach about Jesus Christ and to see the lives of people change in miraculous ways when they truly convert and become disciples of our Savior.

It is also a very difficult time for some.  For many missionaries, it is the first time away from the life they know and away from their families for an extended period of time.  It is the first time they have had to be totally responsible for themselves physically and emotionally and to think of being with a companion 24/7 whether you get along or not. It may be the first time they have really had to think, plan and make goals.  They may have a preconceived notion about what the mission will be like.  For some it is a complete shock when they have to get up day after day at 6:30 and be in bed by 10:30.  They have to walk and walk and work and work.  It's 100 degrees and 60% humidity or 32 degrees and snowing.  It is not a vacation.  It is HARD!  Some thrive on this work. Others not so much.

My unique position as the mission nurse gives me insights that others may not have.  It breaks my heart as I watch a few missionaries struggling so hard to stay afloat.  Some come with problems that are exacerbated by the stresses of mission life and some develop after they arrive.  (Anxiety and stress affects all aspects of one's life, physical and mental.)  I say a few because there are 200 missionaries here, give or take depending on the new arrivals and departures, and only a handful that are really struggling, so please don't think missions are bad.  Far from it.  I delight in the missionaries and grow in faith as I hear them teach and bear their testimonies.  It is an awesome and wonderful opportunity. 

But since I'm sharing my thoughts this week, I want you to know that I hurt for those few who are trying hard but barely hanging on.  Some end up going home.  I have witnessed this several times over the course of being here. I don't like to talk about it because it is private for those who do go home.  A few have come back and they all can come back if their mental and physical health will allow. 

One such missionary who went home is Grace Loertscher.  She and I have communicated some since she went home.  She just sent me her homecoming talk given on July 24th.  It is beautifully written and with her permission, I want to share it with you.

"Good morning everyone. I'll be honest, I thought that after three whole months of being home, I had escaped giving my homecoming talk. But alas, Bishop Hanson forgets nothing, so I am here and I have a few fun stories from New York to tell.

My experience in New York was interesting to say the least. It was simultaneously exactly what I expected and completely surprising. I could talk about the culture of Queens or what it's like to live in a ghetto filled with surprisingly polite people for hours on end, and trust me I have. Just ask my mother. I could tell you how a bustling business district was less than a mile away from a huge, creepy forest filled with killer raccoons that were definitely NOT playing around. I could tell you that I never knew Guyana was actually a country until nearly every person I talked to was from Guyana. I could also tell you about a man I did service with that was a Chinese professor turned Cruise director turned Bird watcher/field botanist turned professional gardener. Seriously Mike the Gardener was the coolest person I ever met.

That city blew my mind every single day. I would meet insane people on the train, I laughed at everyone and their dog going into an absolute frenzy when the Powerball hit 1 billion dollars, and I discovered that I don't like Manhattan very much because you can't tell which way is north. Yes, the buildings are that big.

I think my favorite thing in New York was the people who believed in God. No matter the religion, they were always so willing to share the depth of their belief and how God had saved their lives. It's amazing that in such a heartbreaking city, you find the strongest testimonies and witnesses of God's saving and healing power. I had many conversations on the subway and on doorsteps about our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. It really helped me to feel God's love for all those people, to see that he cared enough to help them, no matter who they were or what mistakes they had made.

Coming home from that surreal city was one of the hardest decisions of my life. I don't talk much about why I came home, and I have kind of beaten around the bush when people ask why I came home. The truth is that I had a very extreme case of depression and anxiety that I had suppressed for a while that finally caught up with me and completely wiped out my ability to function. The week before I came home, I emailed the mission president about how excited I was to learn more about service and proclaiming my love for the work I was engaged in. I have hardly told anyone about my last week on the mission when my mental state took a 180 and I felt I couldn't trust my brain anymore, but those days will forever be crystal clear to me.

I had many sacred experiences and suffered some of the worst mental and emotional anguish I have ever faced. I am so glad that I trusted in my Heavenly Father enough to honestly tell him how I felt and ask him if returning home was the right decision. I have never felt closer to my heavenly father than I did in those late hours when I lie awake paralyzed with grief and begged him for relief that he mercifully gave.

About a month before I came home, one of my companions, Sister Benson, had just gone home. Sister Benson had helped me so much to function as a missionary after my hard experience in training and I was struggling very hard with her leaving. The day she left, One of my favorite members, Sister La Rosa, showed us the video from Elder Holland about Early returned missionaries and that gave me hope in my new situation. The night I felt I needed to come home, I listened to that talk again and again. I downloaded it to my ipad and even listened to it as my plane took off and I saw my area for the last time as a missionary.

Elder Holland's words helped me to not feel like a failure for only serving five and a half months. They spoke comfort to my heart in my trying situation. Elder Holland's message is in response to a man who needed help not being ashamed or embarrassed that he had only served four months and had to come home for Mental Health issues. My favorite section of the response goes as follows:

"I say commendation to you, and the love of the Lord to you, and the blessings of the Church to you for trying to go, for wanting to go. And for the fact that you successfully served for [those] months. It obviously wasn't a full term, but it was missionary service. It was honest. You were loyally participating and testifying. And I want you to take credit for that. I want you to take the appropriate dignity that you deserve from that, and to know that the Lord loves you and the Church loves you for serving.

I don't know that in all eternity, every mission was outlined to be two years. Or for the young women, 18 months. That's kind of a modern invention. I'm sure missions in the scriptures were longer. Some of them were undoubtedly shorter. And a lot of missions currently might be shorter. Special missions that are arranged for individual people, including senior couples.

So I want you to be proud. Appropriately proud. I want you to take the dignity, and the strength and the faith that came from those months and cherish that forever. I don't want you to apologize for coming home. When someone asks you if you're served a mission, you say, yes. You do not need to follow that up with, but it was only four months. Just forget that part and say yes, you served a mission. And be proud of the time that you spent." Close quote

As I came home, I will openly admit that it was hard to take that advice. It is awkward to tell people you went on a mission and then say you graduated a year ago. It is hard to keep reading the scriptures and praying. It is hard to not feel ashamed because you feel there is somewhere else you were supposed to be.

The thing that helped me keep my testimony when I came home was to keep trying. The Lord understands my efforts and helps me understand his love for me. As I have consistently tried to read my scriptures and pray and serve others, I have found happiness and friendships and grown closer to the Lord. I have trusted Him and He has helped me and I am very grateful for that.

I want to make a quick transition here to acknowledge this week's importance. This week, we celebrate the many men, women, and children who made a faith-led and extremely difficult journey across the country and in some cases, across the world, so they could simply worship God. We have all heard many heroic and selfless stories from those early pioneers. I'm sure we all appreciate their sacrifice and testimonies.

Today, I would also like to acknowledge and appreciate a different kind of pioneer as well. We often think of "pioneers" as those early saints who made the long journey from New York to Utah. What's amazing to me is that nearly every single Latter Day Saint in New York City I met is most certainly a pioneer. Many of them joined the church with little to no support from family. Some of them lost jobs and relationships to follow Christ. It seems the harder their struggle to remain faithful, the more extraordinary and willing to share their faith through service they become.

 One woman, Sister Butscher, from the Richmond Hill branch is a great example of this. She found the church when she was 14 years old and recognized its truth. She got baptized alone and still remains the only member in her family. Her life was never easy past that. She never got married or had children even though it was her fondest dream to follow that path. Nonetheless, she is still a strong member and has a calling as the Stake Family History Coordinator. She is always willing to help the missionaries with teaching, and even rents out apartments to missionaries.

Another example of pioneers that I saw in New York was the Dunkley family. I absolutely adore this family. They filled my day with joy and love every time I saw them. They had moved to Brooklyn a little over a year ago with very little means to live on. They have six absolutely energetic children and still manage to get them all on the subway and to church each Sunday without fail. Brother and Sister Dunkley were always present at activities and always strived to help in any way they could. They had very little to give, but they gave their all with a smile and a hug.

While in New York, I read a talk by Thomas S Monson entitled "The world needs pioneers today" My experience there certainly supported that statement. Every city, every neighborhood, every family NEEDS these pioneers.

My favorite section of the talk is when President Monson is describing the challenges and importance of modern-day pioneers.

"Some find it difficult to withstand the mockings and unsavory remarks of foolish ones who ridicule chastity, honesty, and obedience to God's commands. But the world has ever belittled adherence to principle. When Noah was instructed to build an ark, the foolish populace looked at the cloudless sky and then scoffed and jeered-until the rain came.

Must we learn such costly lessons over and over again? Times change, but truth persists. When we fail to profit from the experiences of the past, we are doomed to repeat them with all their heartache, suffering, and anguish. Haven't we the wisdom to obey Him who knows the beginning from the end-our Lord, who designed the plan of salvation-rather than that serpent, who despised its beauty?

A dictionary defines a pioneer as "one who goes before to prepare or open up the way for others to follow." Can we somehow muster the courage and steadfastness of purpose that characterized the pioneers of a former generation? Can you and I, in actual fact, be pioneers?" close quote.

I know we can all be pioneers today. We can be an example of kindness to our family and friends. We can encourage everyone to find a relationship with God, no matter their religion. We can serve others and show them of goodness in the world and of God's love. All in all, if you love God and try your best to be like Jesus, You can follow the example of those dear pioneers from the 1800s and you can pave a new path for others to follow today.

I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen."

I am proud of Grace for the love she has for the Lord and for the courage she has to continue on and to face her future.  She is a great example to me.

I also read an article on a blog on lds.org that caused me to ponder and think: 

"The Gift of Being Broken

By Ariel Szuch July 28, 2016

Sometimes I just feel broken.

I look at my life and see all the ways I fall short-all those things I said I'd do that I didn't, all the expectations I had for myself that I never fulfilled. I see my weaknesses and frustratingly human frailty and the way it's affected people negatively in my life. I see my brokenheartedness over losing my mother to cancer and wonder sometimes if I'll ever feel whole again.

There are many ways to feel broken-physically, because of illness or injury; emotionally, because of unfulfilled desires or loss of a relationship; mentally, because of anxiety, depression, or other mental illness; or spiritually, because of crippling doubts or crises of faith. In the midst of all these, it can be easy to agonize over whether or not we can ever be acceptable to God or be of use in His kingdom because we're so human and broken. I know I feel that way sometimes.

However, God is good, and He has taught me a valuable lesson about being broken through my life's experiences:

Brokenness is a gift.

Why? Because our brokenness connects us to each other, and our brokenness brings us to Christ. It is by bringing our broken hearts to Him that we are made whole.

Sharing our brokenness brings meaning to our experiences, and the connection we make with others when we share our stories brings healing.

Up until recently, I hadn't put my experience of losing my mother into writing that I shared with others. Writing the post "Spring Will Come" was more difficult than I expected-going back to that dark time in my life triggered feelings of grief and required working through a lot of emotions, even though I had experienced healing since my mother's passing. It took courage to show a part of me that was so tender, so broken, for the world to see.

But miracles happened during that process. I read my story to family members, and we wept, our hearts brought together through sharing our grief. People I didn't even know reached out to me in person and online and shared how my story had helped them with the grief they were experiencing in their own lives. And I was grateful to God for the opportunity to see His hand touch others through my broken heart.

Being broken is a gift, because when we are broken, we recognize the need for a Savior to make us whole.

There's a reason that the sacrifice Jesus asks of us is a "broken heart and a contrite spirit." A broken heart is one that is open to Him, that lets in His grace. He felt our pains and sorrows first, and by going through a little of what He went through, we feel His power in our lives.

I've had several cry-in-public moments since my mom died. Once I was in a cafeteria with a friend when my emotions overflowed. It hurts so much sometimes, missing her. My friend sat quietly, his hand on my shoulder. I remember feeling love and peace and sorrow all at once, like the Savior's arms were around me as I cried.

It's been in moments like that, when I feel most vulnerable and the most broken, that I have felt the Savior's love the strongest. He does not condemn me for my weakness or demand that I move faster; He stays by my side. Every time I take the sacrament, it reminds me that it's OK that I'm broken, because Jesus was broken too. He is "a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief," and with His stripes, I am healed (see Isaiah 53:3-5).

I am grateful for the gift of being broken. God has shown me that He loves me and uses me not in spite of the fact that I'm broken, but because of it. As Christ says in Ether 12:27, "And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them."

I've reflected a lot on the meaning of that scripture. I don't think it means that all our weaknesses will be taken away, but rather through Jesus's atoning sacrifice, beautiful relationships with God and with our fellow men can grow from them. When we are weak, we realize the need for our Savior, and He comes to us. No matter our weaknesses and shortcomings, with Him standing beside us, hand in hand with Him and with those we love, we are whole."

This week I have been reading and studying Jesus, the Christ by Talmage.  I have been in the chapters from the Last Supper to the Resurrection.  So much to think and ponder about.  I've felt the agony in Gethsemane. I winced with the scourging and as the thorns were placed on His head.  They beat Him and slapped Him.  They mocked and jeered.  He carried His cross to the hill.  I cried as they nailed Him to the cross to suffer and die. 

I love my Savior.  I am so grateful for the love and sacrifice he gave/gives to me.  He knows me. He knows my cares and the things I worry about.  He knows my pain.  He knows my joy and happiness. 

As I've read back through my blog, I don't want you to think that I am sad or depressed or down on myself in anyway.  I am extremely happy to be here serving the Lord.  I heartily recommend it to all.  What a glorious experience I am having.  My faith in the Lord is growing.  My testimony is stronger.  But I also realize that life can be difficult in so many ways.  Each of us has trials that bring us to our knees.  Learning to rely on and confide in the Lord is a lesson well-learned. I pray that each of you will know of the love the Savior has for you, for your purpose in being here, for His purpose in dying on the cross for us, and for His resurrection.

I love you my family and friends.

Sunday dinner has become a tradition with Sisters Zambito and Anderson and Elder and Sister Williams.
I love this ritual and these people. Sister Anderson goes home in 9 days. We'll miss her.

I went to Bay Shore to take some medicine to a missionary and while there, I happened
to meet Sisters Williams and Bugingo. I dragged them to a sushi dinner and then for ice cream.

Sisters Staker and Jenkins (the comedienne)
Sister Jenkins is going home so we had to have a farewell duke.
My knee wasn't so bad that I couldn't drive to Flushing.

I saw this picture and had to save it. It is full of cheer!!