My darkest spell perhaps came when I received my mission call. As I mentioned previously, I was already struggling with some depression, but I mostly brushed it off. It had just been a tough semester, that is all.
My mission call came while I was home from BYU during our Christmas break. Theoretically, I should have received it the week of finals, but due to the sudden of influx of missionary applications arriving at Salt Lake, it was taking more time to go through and assign missions.
Being home from school came with its own trials. I love my family to death, and I wouldn't change them for the world, they do, like all other families, come with their own issues. One of my brothers was living at home at this time, and along with him was his girlfriend and her three young children. They had been living with my parents for a while by then, and I knew that my mom was stressed by the situation, but it wasn't until being there that I really understood the magnitude of the situation. It felt like there was constant contention in the home, raised voices and harsh words. The house was unkempt with so many of us living there and not everyone pulling his or her weight, yet my brother and his girlfriend had to rely on us (well, mostly my parents) to help them with medical and financial needs. I could feel the stress and tension in the home.
Receiving my mission call should have been an exciting day, but for me, it was filled with turmoil. It arrived in the mail the weekend before Christmas. My parents and I happened to be out running errands when my brother called and said that I had received a packet in the mail. I was excited, yes. I had my parents drop me off early so that I could go open it.
When I came home, however, I heard yelling and crying. My brother was getting upset at one of the kids for doing something. He asked me a question, and I don't even remember my response. The spirit was missing in that home. All I remember was focusing on the packet and what it contained.
I went into my parents' master bathroom. It was the only place of solitude I had since my brother was using my room while he lived there. I turned on the fan to drown out the sounds of angry voices and opened my mission call.
"Dear Sister Pothoof,
"You are hereby called as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. You are assigned to labor in the Arizona Mesa mission. It is anticipated that you will serve for a period of 18 months. You will be prepared to preach the gospel in the Spanish language..." And I was to leave March 13th.
My heart started beating fast. March 13th? I was hoping later. I did set my availability date for sometime in January, but at the time that I submitted my papers, I was hoping to sell my apartment contract. But there had been no bites. None whatsoever. Not even anyone interested. I couldn't pay for my apartment AND a mission. And all my things were in Utah! I would have to fly back from Wisconsin, pack all my things, drive home, then come back out in March. How was I to do all that? If I had received my call before I came home, perhaps I would have been able to pack or at least make some sort of plan. I didn't know what to do, and I felt horrible inside concerning the date. Not to mention, I was to be serving in the States. Everyone had assumed I'd go to Germany like my brother or some place foreign, but no. I was stuck in the States. Arizona, no less, where my only memory of the place was getting really sick once from driving through. A Wisconsin girl, used to -20 F or more temperatures going to about the hottest place in the U.S.
I felt kind of guilty about some of these thoughts. I didn't doubt the prophet nor that this was an inspired call, but it just didn't feel right to me.
For the rest of the break, this call was on my mind. We didn't have any grand "Let's-celebrate-Jesse's-mission-call" event. In fact, my mom didn't even have energy to make a special dinner that night. I didn't mind too much, although I felt bad because she felt bad about it.
I tried to think of various scenarios that I could do to make this work. After all, the Lord will call you at the right time, so there had to be a way, right? I searched for hours trying to figure out about selling my contract and coming home to work, or staying in Provo, UT to take some term classes. Nothing seemed to fit, however. I just couldn't figure out how to make this work.
With a mission call come a website that prospective missionaries can use to access things to help them prepare. I started doing that, watching the District and such. I watched the Errand of Angels, and even read the book 18 Months, a collection of sister-missionary stories. Instead of being filled with excitement, I was filled with dread and anxiety. I couldn't explain it, but something just didn't feel right. However, when I tried to explain things, I felt like I was doubting the Lord, His timing, and His will. I really wanted to do what Heavenly Father was asking of me. I just didn't know how to do it. My brain started to get more and more fuzzy the more I tried to figure it out, and I wanted to hide from this mess.
It was actually my branch president who thought about postponing my mission to a later date. He made the phone calls and suggested April 24th. It would be the last day of finals at BYU. I could work with that. Maybe my professors will even let me take the exams early so that I could have a few days to prepare.
I felt much better after thinking about this, but I was still uneasy.
I didn't return to school on a happy note, however. Although I had a mission call in my hand, I had sorrow in my heart. My brother had gone on one of his rampages and was verbally fighting with his girlfriend. Honestly, I don't remember much of it; my mom had sent me downstairs to watch the dog. There was a lot of yelling and threats being made, and the police were even called. His girlfriend left to go to a women's shelter as she was basically homeless. My brother cooled down enough to breath and say goodbye as I left for the plane that same night. It is hard to see someone such as your tough, older brother cry so much in front of you. Although I was also feeling hurt from his actions, I couldn't help but still love him.
I think I also cried that night as we were driving to catch my flight back to Provo. I was certainly hurt, and in many ways. I was drained and tired from the few weeks I had been home and living in that tense atmosphere, but I also felt lonely, like nobody cared that I had just received a mission call. I knew they did, but I couldn't feel it. In fact, I couldn't feel many things at that moment. Just sadness, confusion, and exhaustion.
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