My name is Michelle Jensen and I am 23
years old. The past three years have been ones of various up and
downs. My life completely shattered, I worked hard to tape and clue
it back together...only for it to be shattered again. Currently, I am
starting to rebuild myself. I've felt the need to put down in words
where I've been and where I am going spiritually. My goal is to
remind myself that God is good, and the reality of Christ's
Atonement in my life. I'm going to share very personal experiences from my LDS mission. How I had faith after coming home early from my mission, and how I continued my
mission from home. Finally, I will share how easily it is to forget
God, and the struggles I am now facing to regain belief in him. what has been so private for years, I am about to share. Maybe this will help more people than me.
I was 19 years old when I heard the
news through the grape vine about the historical age change. Elders
could serve at 18, and sisters at 19. I was then working at Redfish
Lake Lodge in the heart of the Sawtooth Mountains in Idaho. A week
before I had a couple phone interviews for Big Sky Ski Resort in
Montana to work in the winter. Only a couple hours before I heard
that the age had changed for missionaries to serve, Big Sky offered
me a job. When I was offered the job, I felt so excited...but I asked
them if I could have a day to decide to take it and I would let them
know. Family and friends who know me, know my love for the outdoors,
especially winter recreation. I thought I was crazy for asking for a day to think about the job. Any other moment, I would have taken the
job in a heartbeat. As soon as I heard that I could now go on a
mission at 19. I knew I had to go. November 2012: Sister Jensen
you're called to serve in the Washington, Spokane mission. Reporting
to the MTC January 30th 2013.
The MTC was in my opinion the worst!
From day one, I let my companion know that I was ready to be in
Spokane. 2 ½ weeks later we flew out to the mission. I was
paired up with my companion, and placed in the area of Colville.
While we drove from the stake center in Spokane, I thought. “maybe
the MTC was okay”. I was scared, but so excited to serve. The
people and country of Colville were beautiful. So much faith in one
town! When you drive into town there is a sign that says “Colville's
Churches welcome you”. I had amazing experiences there.
Many members were eager to help us. I was able to gain very special
relationships with them.
One of my first Sunday's in the
Colville 1st ward I introduced myself to one of the young
women, Chiavan. She was happy, and I could feel a strong love of
Christ radiating from her. As my companion and I were leaving the
building, I told her that we should invite that young women to come
teach with us. My trainer, Sister Umphenhour said that the girl was
not a member, and was dating a priest in the ward. She comes every
week with his family. I was shocked. Why was she not baptized? Later
I came to find out that Chiavan's mother was not a huge fan of the
Church. That it was a blessing that she was even allowed to attend
church meetings with her boyfriend and his family. Occasionally, during my time in Colville we would be able to talk to Chiavan about Christ
and the restored gospel, and it would be the highlight of our hard
earned day.
12 weeks into my mission, I found
myself having a difficult time. I did not love my area. I did not
enjoy the companion I was now training. I lost desire to eat, I was
becoming quick to anger, and felt tired all the time. More often than
not, I could not feel the spirit guiding my actions. “it's just a
moment” I thought, “I will get over it”. But I didn't, I kept
spiraling down in what I now know is depression. I counseled often
with my mission president, therapist, and mission psychologist. I
kept fighting my demons. We were Teaching more and more lessons each
week. Receiving new contacts, and new investigators all the time. All
the while, working on my own mental health. I worked hard as a
missionary to keep myself healthy. I ran every morning, and I was
also prescribed one hour of exercise on top of that morning work out.
I also kept an anger journal, a gratitude journal, and an everyday
journal. After another few weeks went by, and I was still so
depressed, I decided to try medication.
Antidepressants...it's very hard to
find the right one. Some people have a positive out come with them.
Others, the drugs have a very negative effect. I was one of the not
so lucky ones. I took an antidepressant, and a sleep aid. I felt like
I was in a fog all the time. I felt like was never really in a
lesson, or conversation. I was there, but I really wasn't there. I
was on the outside looking in. My mind became a very scary place. As
I would be driving my companion and I places, I would have thoughts
of crossing the double yellow line while another car was about to
pass us. But, that would hurt my companion so I didn't. I had many
other thoughts like this one. But, that would be too tragic, or too
messy. I kept telling myself, “it's just a moment, I will get
over it” But I didn't. I didn't like how I felt, who I was, and I
was tired. I felt like God had left me. I often prayed to feel him
near me, but there was a pavilion over head. I could not hear, or
feel him. I kept what I was feeling and thinking private. I put on a
brave face almost everyday. The work wouldn't stop and neither would
I.
One night before I started my daily
hour of exercise, I pulled out my refilled prescriptions from their
paper bags. In all prescribed medication there are warning pages, and
that night I decided to read what would happen if I were to take too many pills. I did the same thing with the sleep aid.
The consequences were catastrophic. I put the pills in the cabinet
and thought, “no way”. I left to work out, and it wasn't a good
work out. I got angry that I wasn't able to push through and shut off
my mind. When my companion and I got back to the apartment, I
mentally checked out. I was gone, but still moving and getting ready
for bed. I found myself grabbing a glass of water, and grabbing my
two prescribed medications for sleep and depression and going to the
bathroom. I pulled the caps off, nothing running through my mind. I
took every single pill. Not one left. I brushed my teeth, and went to
bed.
I woke up nauseous. Fighting through
all the chemicals running through my body. I didn't say a word about
it to my companion. I should be dead, I thought. We went to do some
service at the museum in Colville. There Rose, the woman we were
helping. Said I didn't look very well and my eyes were somewhat
yellow, and I should go lay down. My companion and I went back home,
and I went to bed. I slept for basically two days straight. When I
came to, and I realized that I tried to end my life I broke down and
started to cry. I had been protected, that's all I could figure out. I told my companion what happened. Soon, she was on
the phone with the mission presidents wife. And it went down the
line, til I was told I was going home that night to get well. I was
medically released from the Washington Spokane mission September
2013.
9 months I served. 9 months
incomplete. I was not going to give up. I was a missionary, and I
intended to get the help I needed and go back and complete the
remaining 9 months of my mission. I had taken a missionary planner
home with me. When I unpacked, one of the first things I did was
write on a sticky note “your mission isn't finished yet” and
put it on the missionary journal. I put the journal on my desk in
plain sight. I had work to do to get mentally healthy so I could go
back to Spokane. But, God had other things in mind.
I didn't get cleared to go back and
finish my mission. I didn't understand why depression was so real in
my life. I began to blame God, because I was hurt. I was an excellent
missionary, Why was this in the cards for me? I began to ask why they
sent me home instead of transferring me to serve in the mission
office for a while, closer to therapists, and the mission
psychologist? I was embarrassed talking to people at church about
serving a mission. Especially if they'd ask me how old I was. When I
told them I was 20, I could see them doing the math quickly in their
head. I didn't serve long. I was ashamed.
A few months went by, and I accepted
that I wasn't going to be a missionary again. I started living my
life, focusing on what made me happy, running, hiking, and
snowboarding. Slowly I kind of felt normal again. Though, my heart still ached to be serving in Washington. One night I was on Facebook, and
a friend request had been accepted. It was Chiavan. I got excited,
and began to message her to see how she was, and see if she was still
going to church with her boyfriend and family. She seemed well, but
still wasn't baptized. I kept a conversation with her going
constantly. She was getting ready to graduate high school, and move
from Colville to Spokane. I often would ask when she was planning on
getting baptized. She would always reply, very soon. Finally I said
to set a date with the missionaries, and they will help you get
there. One night in my room I messaged and asked what was holding her
back from getting baptized? Chiavan then opened up to me about the
situation at home. Her mom was very much against the church. Chiavan
had to choose getting baptized, or her home and relationship with her
mom. My heart broke, as I read the messages I was getting from my
friend. I was praying to know how to respond to comfort her.
My eyes wandered away from my computer
screen and locked in on the sticky note that was on my dusty
missionary planner. “Your mission isn't over yet”. Inspired I
asked her, “if you could live your dream where would it take you?”
She replied.. “ I would move, and go where there were lots of
people with the same beliefs as me. I would have a good support
group, to help me keep the commandments. I want to go to school, and
do ultrasounds on pregnant moms.” I had the strongest impression of
my life that night. I needed to invite her to be baptized, to move
down to Utah and live with me and my family.
I told my parents about Chiavan, and
what happened that night. They were on board all the way. So I
invited Chiavan to get baptized, and move down and live with us. And
she did. Six months later, she met her future husband down here.
Another six months, they were married in the Manti temple. Chiavan
was a blessing in my life. She helped me learn much, and she was
brave to follow her faith. She's a hard worker, and is now working
for Valley OB/GYN. My mission was to help her, when she couldn't help
herself. I couldn't do what I did for her as a missionary wearing a black
tag. Being home I was able to do, and teach her more.
Even though I had just had a year full
of spiritual moments. I started to feel less enjoyment in the little
things, I didn't care for church, I began to be quick to anger, and I
slept a lot. My prayers became less and less, because I didn't feel
God anymore. I began to revert back into a bad depression. I denied
it of course. I stopped going to church because I didn't feel the
spirit working in my life. I knew God was real, but did I? I started
researching church history and found things that weren't in the
actual church history. Things that may have been taken out? I don't
know. Maybe. It got so bad, that I didn't believe any of it. I wrote
a letter, I didn't believe the church was true. It wasn't real. And I
was more agnostic now. Then didn't attend church, pray, or follow
some commandments for ten months. Apathetic, and numb. How quickly
one can forget God, and blow out their faith in Christ.
I'm on the road back now. I have seen
too many miracles in my own life to deny that there a God. Depression
is real, and it can disable someone spiritually so fast. At least in
my experiences. I have to believe Christ can do for me, what he has
done with so many others. Heal me. I've been lifted up a little, and
slowly feeling strength from Christ. I can do hard things with Him.
“He can make us whole no matter what
is broken in us” - Paul V. Johnson
