This news clip aired on KSL Channel 5 on Wednesday February 12, 2104 and addresses the growing number of early release missionaries.  How refreshing to see attention given to this delicate area.  Thought everyone would enjoy watching this.

http://studio5.ksl.com/?nid=54&sid=28680499

For me, there is some nostalgia in taking down Christmas each year.  I usually start un- decorating my house the day after Christmas and I like to do it alone.  I like to take that time to reflect on the year, what we experienced as a family - the ups and downs. I like to think about the 3 things I'm going to do for the next year that I wouldn't normally do (I gave up on the "resolution" idea years ago and found this to be more effective for me).  But more importantly, I like to take that time, when the kids are occupied with new toys and content not to bother me for a few minutes, to reflect on what I achieved personally that year and reflect on my spiritual growth.  Without a doubt my reflections changed significantly after our son came home.

The first Christmas was the worst.  I'm not even sure how I made it through Christmas that year.  The day we got the phone call from our Stake President was the day my husband and I were supposed to get all the shopping done.  Needless to say very little shopping got done and in the days that followed I was convinced Christmas wasn't even going to happen and I just didn't care.  There was so much chaos going on from travel arrangements, appointments with the stake president, phone calls and visits from friends and family, etc.  My girls were tolerant of all the chaos in the beginning although I could tell they were getting very irritated that our home did not feel like Christmas anymore.  After our son was home they kept asking if there would be presents and when were those presents going to show up.  I remember getting angry with one of them one morning and asking them how they could even think about Christmas and presents at a time like this. How could they not understand that life was never going to be okay again? My 13 year old daughter reminded me that I had other kids besides our son and they wanted our house to feel like normal again.  I just wanted to crawl into bed and not get up for a very long time.  I didn't care about anything - my life felt like it was ruined forever.  Life is supposed to just stop when your world falls apart and yet it doesn't happen that way.

The next morning I went into my 11 year old daughters room to wake her up for school.  When I walked into her room I was shocked at what I saw and wondered what in the world she could have been thinking. The night before she had put brightly colored streamers up all over her room, even hung them from the ceiling, which irritated me because it looked like another mess to clean up while she was gone. I asked her why she had put those streamers up.  She said, 'I wanted something to look and feel happy since everyone is so sad. Now I can at least feel happy in my room."  My heart melted at her sweetness and innocence that only a child can have at times like this and then I felt tremendously guilty. I realized in that very moment that it was time for me to get a grip on myself and make things "normal' again. I decided right then that it couldn't matter anymore how I felt inside because I still had kids that needed our home to be what they had always known it to be. They hadn't done anything wrong and yet they were getting "punished" in a sense. So my husband took another day off and we shopped like we always had. I made sure we did all the traditional activities we did every year. I made sure that Christmas was just the same as it had always been even though I didn't feel happy. I literally felt like a robot just going through motions.  As we all gathered around the tree Christmas Eve night and had our Family Home Evening I didn't feel the same happiness I had felt the years before. Yes, all my kids were home, alive, and well (physically) but it wasn't supposed to be that way. One was supposed to be on the other side of the world. But we got through Christmas and I think we were all very relieved when it was over. I took Christmas down in a fog, still numb from the shock, but grateful to have that holiday behind us and anxious to get the first year behind us. As I reflected on the year, mainly the past two and half months, I knew that I had a lot of growing and learning to do in 2012.  I decided that I had to be content that I ended the year of 2011 still standing.

Christmas the next year was so much different.  It is true that time does heal wounds and a year had done a lot of healing for me. I was a much stronger, happier, and settled person over his early return at this point.  My son was doing so much better than where he was a year ago so it was easier to be happy,  My sister once told me that you are only as happy as your saddest child and I had learned the past year how true that statement was.  Since he wasn't the sad and broken 19 year old anymore I was able to be much more happy. The happy feeling had returned to our home and I knew that for sure because my daughter had taken the streamers down from her room sometime in October. That was a happy day and another milestone on the road to recovery. We did our family traditions through the month of December with happiness in our hearts and things actually felt okay again.  There was still a small part of me that said, "we should still have a missionary out" but those feelings didn't last long anymore.  They were fleeting thoughts now rather than the big elephant in the room.  As we gathered around our tree Christmas Eve of 2012 I was truly thankful that all 5 of my kids were home, all healthy (even mentally and spiritually now), and all happy.  As I took everything down once again, I reflected on how blessed we had been even though it had been a very difficult year.  I was again grateful that the year of "firsts" was now over and already looking forward to 2013 when he would have been home and all his friends would be home.  No more missionary talk and that made me happy.

As I took Christmas down last week my thoughts were with another mom whose son had just come home two weeks before Christmas - just like mine had two years ago.  I didn't know this mom but somehow I hoped that she would know that you do get through Christmas and it gets easier every year. I would hope she would know, and any mom to know, that as you put one foot in front of the other, keep going through your daily motions and cling to your faith that you do heal.  And I hoped that she would know that the reason we celebrate Christmas is because the Savior loves us so much that he was willing to be born so that He could die for us...for me... and most importantly...for our sons.  And as I remember that each year the pain gives way to hope that all will be well in time.  As I reflected on this past year I realized that this experience changed me for the better, that the Lord knows us individually and has a plan for each of us. The reflection each year only gets better and easier...I promise.

     There has been one last event looming in the background that I knew was going to be hard to get 

through. I’ve had a love/hate relationship with this event and was never sure how it was going to turn 

out. 

     My son has a best friend that lives next door to us. He’s more like a brother from another mother rather 

than a friend. They grew up together. They spent every moment together. His friend went to Hawaii 

and Disneyland with our family. My son went on a Caribbean cruise with his family. Our families have 

vacationed together. These two have been inseparable and each other’s halves since they were four 

years old. Their birthdays are 10 days apart. We used to tease them and said they were really meant to 

be twins but they were too distracted in heaven and one of them missed the call to go down to earth. 

Our families were meant to live next to each other for these two boys. 

     They got their calls one week apart and left for the MTC four weeks apart. I always said I would know 

the church was true based on where these two boys went on their missions. If they went anywhere 

near each other than the church wasn’t true. But since it is, they were sent to opposite ends of the 

earth. Two incredibly different missions that fit each boys personality.

     When we got the phone call that our son would be coming home one of my first thoughts was to 

my “other son” and how this would affect him and how he would react. I knew he would be just as 

devastated as we were. He had only been in his country for a month and had enough to worry about 

getting used to the culture and language. We emailed him, as did his parents, to tell him not to lose 

focus and not to worry about what was happening here at home. He was devastated, concerned for his 

very best friend and brother, and said he would pray for him like he never had before. I truly believed 

that the blessings of having his friend/brother out there serving would extend to our son. 

     At first it was really hard for me to read my other sons weekly emails that he sent. It was a constant reminder to me that he was doing so well, he was doing what he was supposed to be doing, and my son was home 

and not doing so well. I became bitter for a time and wondered why it had to be my son that was home 

and not theirs. They had 4 sons that had already served honorable mission and I only had one son. It 

didn’t seem fair. And yet because I loved him so much and he had been such a huge part of our family I 

also rejoiced and found happiness in his success. It was two conflicting emotions at times which never 

made sense. But as time went on and the sting of having an early release missionary subsided, I was 

able to fully enjoy his emails. I got to the point where I realized that his serving was a tender mercy 

to me because I could still be a part of his missionary experiences: we could talk to him briefly when 

he called, we could send him Christmas presents and packages, and we could write to him faithfully. 

My four girls considered him as one of their brothers and would write to him the way they would have 

written to their own brother. In a very, very small way we could feel like we had a missionary too. It 

was as close as we were ever going to come to that experience.

     As the time drew closer and closer to his returning home I found myself looking forward to it for a 

couple of different reasons. First and foremost we were all so excited to see him again, to see how 

he had grown and changed and just to have him in our home again. But second, I also felt that his 

returning home would close the door on the missionary era of my sons friends. They would all be 

home now and life would move into the next phase which didn’t include always talking about missions 

anymore. I felt relief knowing that was going to be over – maybe I could be a part of conversations 

among the moms now. One last homecoming to get through that was close to our hearts and life would 

be a lot easier.

     His parents knew his returning home was going to be hard for us in a way and told us they wanted us to 

be at the airport with them but would leave it up to us. My husband travels for work and he admits that 

when he’s walking through Salt Lake City airport and there are returning missionaries that it still hurts. 

That sting is still there because we will never experience the happy side of missionaries coming home. I 

told our friends that I would really have to think about it and see how we all felt about it. Not that we 

didn’t want to be there but could we do it emotionally and mentally.

     As we talked as a family we all agreed that the natural thing for us would to be there with his family 

when he came down those stairs. We were all so excited to see him and didn’t want to miss this 

opportunity. Our love for our other son overtook our fears and anxiety and we knew we could toughen 

up and put our feelings of hurt aside for him. Since his parents are older (this is their youngest son – a 

14 year age difference between him and his next oldest sibling) they asked if we could do the welcome 

home signs for the yard and his bedroom. Having four girls they jumped right on it and spent hours 

making signs, paper lanterns, and hanging streamers, and balloons. They decided since they didn’t get 

to do this for their brother they were going to make it extra special for their other brother. And as we 

lost ourselves in getting everything all decorated for him, we lost all thought for ourselves and didn’t 

even feel jealous or envious at all. We felt nothing but joy and happiness which was a huge blessing.

     The day finally came for him to come home. We all loaded into our car and drove the hour to the 

airport where we all talked about things I imagined we would have talked about if it had been our 

son coming home. We all waited anxiously with their family at the bottom of the escalator and when 

we saw him come down those stairs we all cheered and cried. Instead of this being something that I 

thought I would dread it turned out to be something that was joyful and happy. Over the next few days 

we were able to spend lots of time with him just listening to his stories and asking him questions about 

his mission. He was thankful for teenage “sisters” that took him shopping to buy him normal clothes 

again and teach him all the things he had missed the past two years like snap chat and all those other 

mindless (useless) things that young adults like to do. 

     At his homecoming talk it was the first time that it didn’t hurt to listen to an elder talk about the best 

two years of their lives. In a very small way I think my other son allowed me to experience a very small 

piece of what I’ll never know as a missionary mom and I think that small piece will be enough for me. 

It’s going to have to be. And now that everyone is home life can move forward.

There were one or two reporters representing a few different publications at Dr. Doty's presentation (see prior post). You can read a review of her presentation as published by www.ksl.com.

I attended a presentation today at Utah Valley University of a survey conducted by Kris Doty, PhD on early return. I sent a message to Dr. Doty via e-mail for a copy of her presentation and if she is kind enough to send it to me I will provide a link for everyone to view, with her permission, of course.

However, until then here are the notes that I took with some comments at the end:

Survey Properties

• N=348 (sample size, number of persons who completed the survey)
• All respondents returned from their mission early
• Respondents are/were students at UVU, Utah, or BYU
• Data was collected April-September 2013

Demographics

• Mean age: 29
• 81% male
• 93% Caucasian
• 87% come from a 2-parent family
• 81% were born in the covenant
• 60% served lass than one year

Status Prior to Serving

• 72% wanted to serve
• 70% said they were worthy to serve
• 17% said they were NOT worthy to serve
• 85% said they were physically prepared
• 64% said they were spiritually prepared
• 60% said they were mentally prepared
• 17% said they had mental wellness concerns prior to departing, but only 66% made this concern known to authorities
• 74% said serving a mission was expected of them socially
• 50% said they loved their mission
• 37% said they could be themselves (this is an interesting figure)
• 62% said they had a strong spiritual experience during their time as a missionary

Observations

• Those who were emotionally prepared had strong spiritual experiences

Why They Came Home

• 39% Personal Choice
• 36% Mental Health
• 34% Physical Health
• 12% Unresolved Transgression
• 11% Disobedience to Mission Rules
• 38% said stress was a contributing factor to their early return

Reception at Home

• 58% said they were poorly or indifferently received by their ward
• 47% said they were poorly or indifferently received by their priesthood leaders
• 33% said they were poorly or indifferently received by their friends
• 31% said they were poorly or indifferently received by their family

Adjustments

• 73% have feelings of failure
• 65% feel uncomfortable in social settings
• 46% feel compatible with the statement "I am a RM"
• 44% feel uncomfortable talking about their mission
• 40% reported feeling pressured to return
• 33% reported their return adversely affected their dating and social life
• 37% feel connected to those who completed their missions

Predictive Factors

• Those coming home due to mental, physical, or worthiness reasons had feeling of failure
• Those that came home due to family problems had decreased feelings of failure

Coping Strategies
Respondents reported that they reverted to the following activities to cope with feelings of failure: staying active, rebellion, inactivity, escape.

• 34% experienced a period of inactivity; 33% of these never returned to activity
• 47% report they are not as active now as they were prior to their mission experience
• Respondents reported they were less likely to go inactive if they were engaged by the ward

Clinical Implications

• ERM's need to be able to tell their story in a safe environment; they need time to process their story
• ERM's should receive a full clinical assessment
• Therapists and priesthood leaders should NOT have an agenda when working ERM's
• "Missionary work is not a rite of passage in the Church... Calls are extended to... those who are worthy and able to accomplish it..." Pres. Monson

So What?

• Ward Councils should be trained to establish a welcoming and accepting ward environment
• 10 to 15 percent of all missionaries come home early, a fact stated by Dr. Doty based on a "very good source"

Future Research

• Focus group of parents
• Focus group of former mission presidents
• Test effectiveness of new youth curriculum
• Develop and test clinical interventions
• Utah vs. other geographies i.e., do ERM's in other states experience the same as those in Utah?

My Observations

• The lecture hall in the UVU library was filled to standing room only; I estimate there were about 300 people in attendance
• By a show of hands, everyone in the room knew an ERM
• 58% of the respondents said upon returning home they were met by a ward that either treated them poorly or chose to ignore them. This fact stresses the need for Ward Councils to understand their role when a young man or woman returns early; there must be a plan and a role for every member of the council. The ERM can't be ignored, certainly not shamed. From my own experience I now know what my role is: When you see this young man or woman you immediately greet them, embrace them, tell them you love them, and you welcome them home. Sidebar: My boss is not a member of the church and had only recently moved to Utah; his understanding of Mormon culture and expectations is minimal, at best. When he learned my son had come home after serving nearly three months he was impressed! "Wow, three months serving your church? That's awesome." His perspective was refreshing and welcomed.
• During the Q&A session one gentleman questioned Dr. Doty's figure that 10 to 15% of all missionaries return home early. This man identified himself as having been a mission president; he said in his mission 5% went home early and that the man sitting next to him, a stake president, is experiencing 5% as well. Dr. Doty re-emphasized that her figure came from a "very good source." In my own stake the figure is closer to 10% than it is to 5%. I have also heard from one therapist close to the issue who said the figures is 10 to 15 percent.
• During the Q&A session a young man in the back of the room expressed alarm that roughly 10% of a group of 80,000 are returning home earlier than expected, and that 73% of those would have feelings of failure. He was alarmed that the Church would not have a safety net in place for them. He stated the obvious. Every bishop and stake president has access to a leadership manual which succinctly instructs them as to how the church is to be administered. If there is a section in that book that provides a process on how to handle ERM's most bishops and stake presidents are unaware. I am quite confident that the Church has NOT provided ward and stake priesthood leaders with counsel on this issue, which explains the wide and varied experiences we hear from ERM parents. Regardless, the vast majority of our priesthood and ward leaders are outstanding men and women who have the ability and the responsibility to act as Christ would have them act: with charity. Think of Moroni chapter 7 wherein charity is defined. I don't believe any of us have to wait for direction from Salt Lake City to act; we can all ask our bishops for ten minutes in front of the Ward Council and instruct them. Once educated each of them can act to develop an environment that embraces and strengthens an ERM. I'm sorry to say that the education is necessary because we are human. Prior to my own experience as the parent of ERM, I would be uncertain as to what to do were a young man or woman came home. And not knowing how to act I would not act, I would be indifferent. A little training and education would go very far.
• Only 37% of those surveyed reported they felt they could be themselves while a missionary. Turn it the other way: 63% said they could not be themselves as a missionary. This is alarming! The whole point of one being sent to one place and another being sent to another place is that one missionary is needed hear for their own special reasons. I believe that missionaries are assigned to specific missions through inspiration. Elder Jones is needed in the Canada Toronto Mission because only he, with his dry sense of humor and experience with fly fishing, will be able to connect with Mr. Brown. God gave each of us a unique personality and spiritual gifts so that we could bless the lives of others. We shouldn't expect every elder and sister to morph into clones within the Army of God. The missionary white handbook does not dictate personality, does it? It dictates behavior, as in schedule and association (up at 6:30 am and don't be alone with a member of the opposite sex). Somehow we need to let our young men and women know that they must be themselves, they must be real, they must be genuine. Where are they being taught to conform to a certain behavior?

Again, should Dr. Doty send me the presentation I'll be sure to post it for all to see. I can't say that I was shocked by any of the statistics. Regardless, the meeting was awesome! Imagine a room full of people who wanted to talk about a topic that most LDS people want to sweep under the rug. I found it refreshing and I appreciate Dr. Doty's efforts.

Every other week or so we receive a message from yet another mom or dad who just learned their son or daughter is coming home much earlier than expected. It breaks my heart and I wish them only the very best. Sharing our feelings is a very good thing. Thank you for visiting our blog; feel free to leave a message and share your own feelings.

It’s funny how life just moves along and then something will happen that will take my thoughts back to “the dark ages” - the time immediately after my son came home.  A week ago my daughter, who is a senior in high school and one of the key players on her schools soccer team, was hit in practice and hurt her knee badly enough that she will miss the remaining region games.  She has shed many tears the past few days with the myriad of visitors that have stopped by.  Some bring treats, some have brought flowers, some brought care packages, some just come to visit and keep her laughing so she doesn’t lose the hope of playing in the state playoffs.  But what really struck me the past few days was when one of her teammates came to visit and said, “I know exactly how you feel,” because she had experienced a similar injury during pre-season. She knew what to say and what not to say to my daughter.  She knew what my daughter would feel during practice and that initial game as a spectator and not a player because she walked that road herself.  Her teammate had real empathy for my daughter because she’s lived what my daughter is living right now and that has been instrumental in keeping her positive at this time. It has reminded me of the difference I felt as I encountered people after my son came home; as people tried to console a grieving mom.  It is one thing to hear people say, “Oh, I’m so sorry,” and an entirely different thing to hear someone say, “I know exactly how you feel.” 

We live in a great neighborhood and we have the best ward – I seriously love my ward family – and we have loving and supportive extended families (some family members not so much but that would be a whole different blog). In the days and weeks that followed my sons return we got the usual phone calls, visits, treats, Cokes, chocolate, notes, parenting books, etc. that everyone else probably gets.  I have a theory that people who don’t really comprehend what you are going through, but want to show love and support, turn to the usual myriad of gifts and phrases that everyone uses.   I’m as guilty as anyone else when it comes to that stuff  -  I feel like I can’t just visit without taking something tangible because it makes me feel like maybe my gift will be the magic cure all. I definitely learned that I’ve probably said and brought the wrongs things many times but hopefully the recipient will know that I love and care about them even if I don’t know what to say. I know I have felt the same for all those who took time to visit me.

I’ll never forget the first time a sister in our ward came up to me after Relief Society just weeks after my son came home, gave me a big hug, and whispered in my ear, “I know what you are going through.”  I was surprised by her comment because she didn’t have sons that had served missions.  She must have sensed my confusion because she pulled me aside and told me that she had been a missionary in Europe years ago, developed a medical condition, and came home early from her mission.  She told me how devastated her family was and how devastated she was, and to a degree is still devastated by not finishing her mission.  She told me that in time things would get easier for my son and our family but this experience would be with us forever.  Her words may not have been what I wanted to hear (don’t we all want to hear that our sons will return and life will be happily ever after again?)but it brought me comfort to see that she was still in the church.  She is a mom of many children, raising them in gospel, and more importantly she is still standing tall even though I could still see the pain of that experience in her eyes as we talked that afternoon in church.  I was thankful that she was willing to share something so personal and to know that I was not alone.

The next month I was assigned new sister to visit teach and a very inactive sister as my partner who would rarely go with me, which turned out to be a blessing some months.  One sister on my route was the mom of a son that had also returned home early from his mission years ago.  I remember when her son came home.  I was a fairly young mom at that point with 5 young children and made the naïve mistake of thinking, “I’ll never let that happen to my son.” (Karma!)  I felt very apprehensive about visiting this sister because I didn’t want to spend every month talking about our sons who came home early and I certainly wasn’t able to say much about the subject without breaking into a lot of tears.  I backed out of two appointments with this sister because of my fear of visiting with her.  This sweet sister must have sensed my insecurities because she said to me one day at church, “we don’t have to talk about our sons…we will find plenty of other things to talk about.”  That was all I needed to feel safe and I showed up for the next appointment.  As we were visiting the topic naturally turned to our sons and I was grateful that it did.  I was emotionally ready to hear what she had to say.  She told me, over the course of two hours, how devastated she was when her son came home and how hard that time was.  She admitted that ten years later she is still devastated and not over the hurt and anger that she carries inside of her.  She then said, “I want to share what I have learned from all this so you and your family don’t make the same mistakes that I did.”  Because she knew what I was feeling her words spoke to my soul like no one else’s words had.   As we sat on her couch in her living room on a cold winter day she poured out her heart, her soul, her hurt, her anger, her love, her frustration, and her hope for her son and mine.  I feel like I had a huge jump start in my healing process after listening to her.  I was her visiting teacher for 9 months and my partner only came twice during that time which allowed us to talk about other things besides our sons which was a good break.  The other months she and I shed a lot of tears, talked in a way that we couldn’t with other people, and buoyed each other up.  I was sad when I was reassigned to another sister but knew the time I had spent with this sweet sister was a tender mercy from Heavenly Father.  We knew what we as mothers feel for ourselves, our families, and our sons.

A few months later my husband and I were in the 5th Sunday combined Priesthood/Relief Society meeting and the topic was about the services the church offers.  Somehow the lesson got to the services the church offers for early release missionaries.  The older man teaching the lesson proceeded to talk about what great services were available for these ERM and how many resources were there for a family experiencing that trial.  My husband and I couldn’t be quite any longer because most of what he was saying simply wasn’t true – at least not in the area we live in and we live in Utah County.  So we raised our hands and explained to him what we had been experiencing and living the past three months and none of it included what he was teaching.  There were several other families in that room that had sons that returned home early and quickly backed us up.  Our Bishop asked us all to come to his office after church with this teacher so that we could communicate to him where the church needs to reach out more on this subject.  I’ll admit that walking to the Bishops office after church I felt like I little kid in trouble.  There were ten of us in that room – one young man that had come home early from his mission came in as well to give his perspective.  There was a former Bishop when his son came home and his wife; a former 1st counselor in the stake presidency and Relief Society president when their son came home; a counselor in the YW presidency and gospel doctrine teacher when their son came home; my husband who was the ward mission leader (still embarrassed over that) and myself who was in the Relief Society presidency and a couple of others.  As we all sat in our Bishops office we all knew the hurt, shame, grief – all those emotions that we had just relived during Relief Society/Priesthood – was palpable in that room.  I watched men that I thought were invincible and strong as leaders in the church weep like children as they talked about what they experienced and still experience when this topic comes up.  We were all able to express and communicate our frustrations and we all knew first-hand what we were feeling because we’ve all lived it.  I’m not sure if we made any real progress or said things that the church will get right on, but it was very healing in a sense to sit in that room, to feel the emotions of everyone, and find strength to keep on going because that’s all we can do.  I also realized that the hurt and pain of this will never, ever leave and that weighs heavily on my heart.

And finally I’ll never forget the time I ran into our old Bishops wife at Wal-Mart.  We had lived in their ward when our son was just a baby and moved away when he was four.  She had a grandson the same age as our son and they had played together when they were young so she always asked me how my son was when I saw her.  Of course she had known he had left on a mission – the whole world knew that thanks to me.  So of course when she asked about my son I had to tell her that he had come home and how hard that had been.  I was totally shocked when she said, “I know exactly how you feel.  My son came home early too.”  We had lived in their ward 4 years and I never knew that nor would I have ever guessed that.  We talked for a solid 30 minutes next to the cooking utensils as she told me how she didn’t even leave the house for months and how his early return almost finished her mentally and emotionally.  She told me she experienced all the things that I was experiencing – that any mother experiences when this happens.  There is something validating and strengthening to me when I hear that I’m not alone and I’m actually feeling all the “normal” emotions.

 Hearing other mom’s say, “I know exactly how you feel” is what gets me through the hard times.  I believe that as we share our sorrows, our disappointments, and heartaches that it allows us to heal and perhaps even feel empowered that we are healing and moving forward.  I truly believe that as we share our stories we make it easier for others to heal – a lesson I learned from the sister I was able to visit teach. 

I just finished reading “My Story” by Elizabeth Smart, the girl that was kidnapped from her home in Salt Lake City for 9 months before being found.  At the end of her book she says, “…I have also learned that my challenges can help me reach out to others with more empathy and understanding than I could have ever had before.  When we are faced with a challenge, it is very easy to be mad or upset.  But when we have passed our great test, we are then given the opportunities to reach out to other people.  We are able to effect change in a way that otherwise we wouldn’t have been able to…Because I have actually lived through these experiences, I am able to be a voice for change.  If I hadn’t had this terrible experience, I’m not sure that I would have cared enough about these issues to become involved….” 

I am in no way comparing my trial to hers because it’s not even in the same ball park.  But her advice resonated with me. I believe I am passing the test and will always have the opportunities to help others pass through the test as well.  I have, we all have, experienced this trial so that I can reach out to others with real empathy and understanding, to mourn and comfort  those that stand in need, and to find the opportunities to say to other mom’s, ”I know what you are feeling.”   While I’m not so thankful that my daughter is hurt and missing games, I am thankful for the teammate that came and said, “I know what you are feeling” so that I could remember what I am supposed to be doing for others.  I don’t need to worry about gifts and care packages I just need to say, “I know what you are feeling.”

The first 48-72 hours after we got the news our son would be home in four days, I felt like my world was spinning out of control.  There were so many decisions to be made, so many appointments to arrange, so many phone calls from people, ward members stopping by bringing chocolate, and life with my four kids at home two weeks before Christmas was still moving forward.  Part of me just wanted to scream for everyone and everything to just stop so I could wrap my head around what was happening.  In some very, very small way I wondered if that was what it felt like when someone died and the constant chaos that comes in those few days between the death and the funeral.  I felt like something had just died in our home and in my heart.

I’ll be honest.  The next morning after we knew he was coming home I was in the shower just sobbing (it was easier to sob in the shower because I was all alone and there wasn't any makeup that would smear) over how wrong everything had suddenly become.  I remember having a discussion with the Lord and saying “Please not this.  I’ll take anything but this.  I’ll be okay getting cancer and dying in the next four days if he doesn't have to come home and we don’t have to face something so public. Just let everything go back to where it was 24 hours ago.”  And then I thought of two elders that had recently been killed while riding their bikes in Texas on their missions.  And I thought, “At least those parents get to bring their boys home in dignity and honor.  Why couldn't that have happened to us?”  And then I wondered if the Lord would allow the plane to go down so that we wouldn't have to do this.  Not my most proud moments for sure but for me I had gone to a dark place very, very quickly and that scared me.  But I didn't have time to deal with that yet.  That would come later.  Maybe I could get to that after Christmas.

When your son comes home from his mission like this, the church makes all the travel arrangements without checking your calendar. I shuddered to think how much a last minute plane ticket like this was going to cost. Our son was on a remote island in the Atlantic Ocean and flights only left on Tuesdays.    I wondered if our tithing would be upped to cover the cost of the ticket. Another question for another day I guess. He was to leave the island Tuesday morning, fly all day and arrive in Boston late Tuesday night.  He was then supposed to claim his luggage, hail a cab, check himself into a hotel, spend the night alone, check out of the hotel at 5 AM the next morning, get back to the airport, catch his flight that laid over in Texas for two hours, and fly into our airport around 5 PM Wednesday night.

 When our stake president came over late Saturday night with those flight plans and itinerary my husband and I were deeply worried.  No one knew what state of mind our son was in.  Our stake president hadn't talked to him and neither had we. I guess that’s against the rules – who knows.  I didn't even know if he’d be allowed to email us on Monday. No one could tell us if he was doing okay or if he was in a state of mind that he would flee while in Boston and we’d never hear from him again. All I could picture in my mind was the episode of “LOST” when Sawyer jumps out of the plane over the ocean.  My husband looked up the hotel he was supposed to stay in and it was in a shady part of town where a murder had just occurred a few months before.  I felt like a whole new injury had been heaped upon us.  Why would anyone think that a 19 year old boy who is being sent home to be publicly flogged should be alone in a pretty big city?  It was hard to believe that someone thought this was okay. He was still my son and I wanted him to be treated like I would treat him.  Maybe there should be mom’s working in the travel department.  Another question and another conversation to have with someone another day.

My husband and I spent many hours talking about different scenarios and trying to find peace with his journey home and neither one of us could get there. But I think the Lord was already showing us tender mercies at this point. When we woke up Sunday morning, we knew we had our answer.  My husband travels a lot for his work and has frequent flier miles. We both knew that my husband needed to be in Boston when our son’s plane landed so that when he stepped off that plane his dad would be there and bring him the rest of the way home.  We wanted him to know that we would walk this road together and he would have the support of his family. We could not bear the thought of him spending a very long and lonely night alone in a strange city.  It wasn't right.  After much time on the phone my husband was able to get into Boston before our son’s plane landed and was able to be on his flights the next day all the way back home.  Truly a miracle given it was two days before and he had just enough frequent flier miles to cover the ticket.  The Lord does not leave us without hope or answers. We called our stake president that night and told him to please get a hold of the mission president and relay our plans to our son so he would know that he wasn't going to be alone the whole way.

The next decision we had to make was how to handle the airport scene when my son and husband landed back home.  Like all missionary mom’s I dreamed of the whole balloons and welcome home banner with all of us standing there excited to see our son after two years.  I didn't have a vision for a son who was coming home early…only 10 weeks after we said goodbye for what we thought was two years.   Balloons and welcome home posters didn't seem appropriate.  Wearing all black didn't seem appropriate either.  What is the right answer? Again, it would be nice if we could have picked up that brochure from outside the Bishop’s office at church on Sunday.

We discussed our options late Sunday night as a family.  Our oldest daughter wanted to be at the airport and was the only one who happened to have that night free.  Our second daughter was on the high school basketball team and she would have to miss practice to be at the airport which meant she would miss a game.  She was a starter on the team and didn't want to miss one game or practice.  As she said, “It’s not fair I’m being punished when I didn't do anything wrong.”  Good point. Our third daughter was on a competition dance team and Wednesday was their big practice days for the show routines.  They were getting ready for a big Christmas performance and if she missed practice she would be pulled from the dance although I was pretty sure if I talked to the teacher an exception would be made.  Our fourth daughter was on student council at the elementary school and that Wednesday was the day they were taking the money they had earned from their school fundraiser to buy gifts for sub for Santa families and wrap them.  It was an activity she had watched her older sister participate in and she had been looking forward to this day for months.  I was scheduled to go as a driver and chaperon.  She broke down crying when she realized she may have to miss that activity.  As we looked at our four girls we were so torn.  Yes they loved their brother and wanted to do the right thing and so did we but on the other hand, they all had very valid reasons for feeling like they were being punished by missing their activities.  How do we make this choice?  Again, could the church have just called me and say, “What day works for you this week to pick up your son?”  Murphy ’s Law states it had to be the worst day for him to come home.

In the end we prayed about it and talked a lot about it. We came to the decision that our son had made choices that had led him to this point and he would have to bear a lot of the consequences for those choices.  He needed to understand and recognize that. It was not fair to push those consequences onto others.  Maybe we were taking a tough love approach but we felt right about not going up to the airport to meet them.  My husband would leave his car at the airport overnight and they would drive home together.  I’m not sure I could have done the happy welcome home thing at the airport – I wasn't strong enough emotionally and I knew the night was only going to be much, much harder once we met with the Stake President at 9.  This wasn't a happy occasion and we were going to treat the situation as it was. I will say it was a very strange experience to be shopping at Wal-Mart with a bunch of excited student council kids from elementary school who were happy to be helping other kids at Christmas. I tried so very hard to focus on loving and serving others but I just couldn't get there all the way.  When my husband texted me that they had landed, I had to find a bathroom and cry for just a few minutes while the kids continued to shop. But no one knew what we were facing - my daughter and I stayed pretty stoic through the long afternoon.

Our girls made a big sign to hang in the family room for him to see as he walked in that said, “We love you.”  They were all standing there to give him a hug when he walked in and then they broke down crying again.  A scene more appropriate for the intimacy of our home and not to be witnessed in a public place. No one was really hungry that night which made me feel bad because the Relief Society president had brought over a big dinner. Maybe we’d eat tomorrow.  Our son was tired, my husband was tired, and the dinner conversation was pretty awkward.  That was only the beginning of many awkward moments as we began to fumble our way through the dark into the new life that we had been catapulted into.

There are many Saturday nights that I go to bed and really wish I could just wake up the next morning and it would be Monday.  There are too many Sunday’s right now that I’d rather just skip, sleep through, or be out of town for rather than showing up and wondering if I’ll make it through 3 hours without breaking down in the bathroom.

I think it all began with that dreadful “first Sunday” knowing we would be walking in the chapel with all of our kids instead of missing one because he was on a mission.  Our son came home on a Wednesday so I was unsure how many ward members had heard he was back.  I knew I would be walking in those doors and everyone would be staring at us.  I couldn't even decide if it would be worse to show up late and sneak into the back or show up on time and sit in our usual spot because that’s what we always do each week. I eventually decided that we would walk in at our usual time and sit in our usual spot because I couldn't run from this crappy situation forever.  I might as well face it head on with as much normalcy and dignity as I could create.

My very cute, young, and hip sister-in-law, who was in Ohio visiting family for the holidays, sent me a text message on Friday (two days after our son got home) and said, “You know that everyone will be looking at you and talking about you on Sunday.  If I were you I’d wear a dress that makes me look hot and feel confident along with some fish net nylons so everyone will have something else to talk about besides your parenting skills.”  Her text made me laugh. I took her advice and wore a great looking, form fitting dress with my black fish net nylons and my knee high black boots with 6 inch heels – my husband calls them my cat woman boots.  Now everyone could comment on my clothes as well as my parenting skills at their dinner tables that night and I didn’t even care.  I think every mom of an early release missionary is entitled to a new dress and new shoes for that dreaded first day. J  I went to bed that night knowing that I at least looked and felt good on the outside that day even though I was a total mess on the inside. But maybe more important – I had survived that first Sunday.

But that was only the beginning of what has become some very difficult Sunday’s.  The first farewell that we were faced with came three months after our son had been home.  My husband’s niece was going to London on her mission and I had honestly planned to go to her farewell.  I knew I had to face family sooner or later (we hadn't seen anyone on his side of the family yet) and I had been preparing myself for this day for many weeks now.  But that Sunday morning came and I spent the whole morning crying.  I couldn't do it.  It just didn't seem fair to me that this niece and this family was happy, that she was going on a mission, and everyone would be there to celebrate a happy day when all this did was create pain inside of me.  I know that is a very selfish way to feel but it’s how I felt and feeling was all I was capable of right now. Being rational wasn't something I was good at yet.  The one thing I had on my side was that I had had my gallbladder removed and a hernia fixed three days earlier so I used that as my excuse as to why I wasn't going to the farewell and sent my family on to the farewell while I stayed home and sobbed. I’m not sure as I took my Lortab that day if it was to mask my physical pain or the emotional pain I was feeling. As I fell asleep, I think it had numbed both.  I had dodged a bullet that Sunday but knew I would have to face many farewells and homecomings. Too bad I couldn't have a gallbladder removed every time one of those came up. J

That dreaded Sunday came when there was a homecoming in our ward. Our ward had been added onto and this elder was new to our ward.  I figured that would make it easier for me – I didn't know him or his family.  But it didn't.  His mom was able to talk before the elder did and I was so jealous.  I’m not sure what she talked on because all I could think of is, “does she know how lucky she is that she is enjoying this moment. Does she know how lucky she is that her son served his whole mission?  I will never get to be that mom that literally glows in joy because her son is home.” I seriously kept looking at the exit and wondered if it would be too obvious if I just left.  I never did get up the courage to move from my seat but I did gain strength in looking back at my friend whose son had come home 5 weeks after mine.  All we had to do was look at each other to know that we were both feeling that same feeling and that strength gave me the ability to stay.

 A few weeks later there was another homecoming of another elder that had been added into our ward.  As he talked about his mission he talked about how he was sitting on the plane to come home and how he just wanted to get off that plane and stay because he loved his mission so much.  He then said that as the plane took off for home he just cried to be leaving a life and people that he had grown to love and was very emotional about that.  Then the stake presidency member talked of how he too had felt those feelings when his mission was over. My 14 year old daughter leaned over to me and said, “I’m sad that missions will never make us feel happy but only sad.”  What do you say to that?  It broke my heart in a whole new way to realize that my girls were still hurting deeply and probably struggled with some Sunday’s as much as I did. 

With each farewell and each homecoming that I have survived the past 18 months, I wrestle with even wanting to come to church – not that I’m not happy for these families because I am. But Sunday’s like those just rip those scabs off all over again and it hurts every time.  There are some Sunday’s where I feel like the two steps forward progress I've made quickly turn into three steps backwards.  And it’s not just sacraments meetings that derail me.

I am a counselor in the Relief Society presidency and have to sit up front each week.  To make matter worse every lesson last year seemed to focus on missionary work – for months!  One teacher even said as she began her lesson, “Is it just me or have all the lessons been on missionary work?”  I so desperately wanted to raise my hand and say, “Yes that is all we have been talking about.  Can we PLEASE change the subject?” I would read the lessons Saturday night and wonder how I could sit up front and supposedly be this example to the sisters when I couldn't even keep my own kid on a mission. It was embarrassing to me.  Sitting up front and trying to act normal and casual has been draining.  I feel like I plaster this fake smile on my face, avoid looking at all the moms who have son’s out serving, never answer any questions or make any comments because clearly I have no credibility in this area, and just stare at the clock while willing it with my mind to finally be 4 PM. As we sit around the dinner table and discuss what we talked about in church each week I sense that my husband has struggled to get through the elder’s quorum lessons as well.  Even my girls will say they are liking their YW lessons on missionary work less and less because the other girls get to talk about their brothers that are serving missions and, as they say, “we just sit there like losers and don’t say anything.”

I could go on forever about how painful Sunday’s can be and I don’t know that the pain will ever fully disappear.  I’ve come to the conclusion that this will be something that I will carry for the rest of my life.  But I have learned that as I turn this burden over to the Lord it becomes easier to bear. I have learned that as I pray each Sunday for the ability to find the good in that day that He will give me those tender mercies.  In her book, “If Life Were Easy, It Wouldn’t Be Hard,” Sherri Dew dedicates a chapter to talking about burdens verse baggage.  I can choose whether this trail of having an early release missionary will be a burden or become baggage. She says, “…on this jaunt through mortality we’ve simply got to leave our baggage behind.…When I speak of baggage, I’m not talking about burdens.  Burdens are part of the mortal experience-the burdens that come with unfulfilled expectations, with disappointment and heartache, with affliction and wavering faith. Loneliness can be a burden.  Emotional wounds can be burdens.  Heavy assignments from the Lord can feel like burdens.  And certainly, sin creates burdens.  But the Savior atoned precisely so we wouldn’t have to carry our burdens alone.  He knew they’d be too heavy for us.”

I am so blessed to know that when this burden seems too much to bear that I can turn it over to the Lord and He will make my load lighter and manageable.  I chose to allow this to be a burden and not baggage that will weigh me down forever. As I have put this into practice, Sunday’s have once again become days that I look forward too.  I am making progress. There is hope.  I will survive.  There is light.

When my son received his call I created a new file in my computer called "The Mission".  Because I have OCD tendencies, I created sub-files in this folder which included: my to-do lists, packing lists, a video file of the opening of the call, a file of all the pictures from the farewell, a file for the pictures taken at the MTC, a file for the pictures he sent us of him in the MTC, and finally a file that would document each month and area that he was going to serve in for 22 months.  I was going to scan in his mission call and letters he received before he left.  I wasn’t going to miss a thing.  Shutterfly and I were about to become fast friends over the next two years.  I would be so organized that I would have this beautiful book of his mission fully documented and ready to hand him as he stepped off the plane.  Isn’t that what good LDS moms are supposed to do?

But as reality would have it, nothing got scanned into my files and the emails seemed to come much faster than I had time to fix his grammar and punctuation and organize them on my computer.  They kept piling up in my email box as one of those projects I would get to “one of these days.”

And then suddenly there was no need to worry about a beautiful Shutterfly book – those dreams were dashed with the phone call.  The missionary papers that were stacked neatly on my craft table suddenly caused me great anguish to even look at.  When our son came home and showed us the pictures he had stored on his camera and talked of his few days in the field all I could think of is “what I am supposed to do with these now?”  I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen a missionary journal that consists of ten weeks.  How would he handle this with his own children one day?  How will that conversation go someday?  What is proper protocol at this point?  I asked friends what they would do and none of them knew. Google didn’t have any answers either.

I gathered all the papers, memory cards, and anything else that had to do with his mission and put it in a file that I left in his room.  I told him this was a chapter of his life that he would have to figure out what to do with and until then, all these things could sit in his closet where I didn’t have to see them on a daily basis.

And then moving day for my son came five months later.  I have always told my kids that when they leave home my gift to them is a big plastic storage bin that they can fill with whatever keepsakes they want to show their future spouses and children.  What they fill that storage bin with is their decision.  Everything else in their room goes with them or goes in the yard sale pile.  My house is not a storage unit – my OCD would never survive that. J Their pictures are documented in scrapbooks and important papers and certificates are filed away in our safe.  He had everything he owned packed up nice and neatly ready to move to his new apartment.  His storage bin was filled with karate metals, yearbooks, scouting awards, a couple of favorite t-shirts, and lots of Pokemon collections.  Next to his storage bin on his bed laid the file of missionary stuff, his name tag, and Portuguese Book of Mormon.  We both just stared at it for a few minutes as I tried to steady myself for the flood of pain and memories it brought back.

He asked me what I wanted to do with it.  He knew he wasn’t going back out – he didn’t have a desire to serve.  It was time for a new chapter and a new start with this move.  I told him the decision was his, that I didn’t have a need for it so he could decide for himself.  I wasn’t sure what I wanted him to choose.  To hang onto it didn’t seem to make any sense.  Yes, this was 10 weeks of his life but it was 10 weeks we all were trying to forget so we could move on.  On the other hand, you can’t just erase that part of his life and throwing it away seemed so final and perhaps a little drastic.  I could have come up with a million reasons for both sides so I simply told him whatever he felt he wanted to do was fine with me and left the room.  Deep down I think I secretly hoped he’d throw it away so that I never had to stumble on that stuff again. 

He loaded up his car and drove to his new apartment and his new life.  I went downstairs to his room to see what he had decided.  I found his Portuguese Book of Mormon with his name tag clipped to the book sitting on his desk.  Everything else had been thrown away.  I put his Book of Mormon inside his storage bin, placed it in the top of the closet and shut the doors.  With four sisters, his closet would now store the prom dresses that were piling up in their closets.  The trash wouldn’t be emptied for a few more days and during that time I wondered if I should rescue that file from its eventual fate at the dump.  Garbage day came and I still debated on whether or not to grab that file.  Had we let enough time go by to not be making this decision based on emotion?  Would it even matter because on the 1% chance he did change his mind and go back, it wouldn’t be to the same place and we wouldn’t need any of that information anyway right?  That mission call and that life no longer applied to him. 

I was thankful to hear the sound of the garbage man a short time later picking up our trash and carrying away painful physical reminders of something that was no longer what I had expected.  As the garbage man carried away the paper trail of his mission I gave myself permission to delete the electronic trail of his mission.  The emails, photos, and videos were also deleted without another reading or viewing of them.  I hadn’t been able to do that since the day of the phone call.  This chapter was over meaning we had only the future to look forward too. And maybe the one silver lining  I had one less scrapbook to do now which would save me some money.  I could buy new shoes with that money. :) 

When our son moved out in May of 2012 I felt a lot of relief.  I was relieved that he was mentally stable enough to take this next mandatory step.  I was relieved that he was ready to move on with life.  I was relieved with the possibility that “out of sight, out of mind” might jump start my heeling. Don’t get me wrong, I love my son, but I also knew that putting space and distance between us was going to be good for both of us. I had great faith that as our son began standing on his own two feet, finding himself, and building his own life, that the Lord would answer our prayers and guide this next phase. 

From the beginning my husband and I never prayed that he would return to his mission.  I can’t speak for my husband but I knew that I would never send another child on a mission again because this was just too painful of a first experience to ever repeat again.  I have one son and four daughters so not having to do the mission thing again is well within reason.  Our prayers have always been that he would remain in the gospel, find his testimony, be able to move on with his life in the most meaningful way possible, and not let this experience be an anchor around his leg his whole life.  The best piece of comfort advice I read was that missions are not saving ordinances and men can still be good, strong men in the church if they didn't serve a mission.  While that has brought me comfort, it will never erase the disappointment of having a missionary that returned far too early.

When my son moved out he found a full time job that required him to work on Sunday.  I don’t think I was surprised by that.  I believe I expected him to rebel a little when it came to attending church.  Church attendance has never been an option in our house so I think I naturally figured that once he was on his own he would test those waters.  For the first few months he was enjoying the freedom of being on his own and making his own decisions – which did not include going to church, attending ward prayer, or going to FHE activities.  I continued to pray that once his membership records arrived in his ward that a home teacher, bishop, elders quorum president – anybody- would reach out to him and fellowship him.  I knew that if I prayed hard enough, the Lord would answer my prayer.  But as more time went on we would ask him if he had been visited by anyone in the ward he would say no one had contacted him and he was just fine with that.  I was confused.  Why was my prayer not being answered?  Don’t we preach fellow shipping, reaching out, and making each member feel important by giving them a calling?  I have sat through enough leadership meetings to know this is what is supposed to happen.  I chalked it up to summertime in a student ward and maybe things were just different.  Certainly school starting in the fall would change all this.

Fall came and school started and our son still hadn't been visited by a bishop.  He didn't have a home teacher.  He wasn't a home teacher.  He didn't have a calling.  He had switched jobs towards the end of the summer and no longer worked on Sunday.  He casually let us know one Sunday night over dinner that he had been going to church.  Two more months went by and still nothing.  He talked about his ward every Sunday now.  He really liked his Bishop but he would say, “it’s like the Bishop doesn't know I’m supposed to be in his ward.  He calls me the wrong name.”  We found that odd and were confused by that.  We kept praying he would get a calling.  And then one Sunday he said, “I love our gospel doctrine class, it would be fun to teach a class.”  It’s like he was asking for a calling.  I wanted to call his bishop and say, “Please!  Answer my prayer.  Give my son a responsibility to help him stay in the church.”  But still nothing.  And it was starting to bother our son.  He would frequently say, “I feel like I’m just lost and no one knows I’m supposed to be here even though I come to church every week.”

And then our answer came at Christmas.  We received a letter from the membership department at church headquarters in Salt Lake two days after Christmas.  The letter stated that his records had been lost for months and finally ended up in some department of the church that I didn't even know existed.  They wanted to know if this was our son and where his records should go.  I was really angry about that.  I felt that all my prayers and all my faith that someone would reach out to him had been for nothing for almost seven months.  Why would the Lord allow that to happen?  Why does it seem like anything that can go wrong with a kid in this situation has gone wrong?  I would have thought that his records would be in a brightly colored bulky folder that read, “Early release missionary…handle with care.”

 We called our son to tell him about the letter and he wanted his records sent to his ward immediately.  I continued to struggle to make sense of something that felt devastating all over again. All I could think of was those lost month when progress could have been made if his records had been in his ward.  But in January I was talking to him and he gave me my answer. He said that maybe the whole record experience had actually been a blessing.  He told me he knew what it felt like to be lost in a sense and how happy he was to have been found again.  Once his records got to his ward he was given a calling and he felt like he truly belonged and mattered in that ward now.  Maybe he had to experience the difference of being lost and then found to truly understand. He attends his ward every week and I have seen the difference it makes in his countenance and his testimony.

I know that this experience was part of the calculated experiences the Lord gives each of us because He knows what we need when we need it.  It reminds me of President Uchtdorf’s talk in March 2013 at the Young Women broadcast called, “Your Wonderful Journey Home.”  Each of us embark on different journeys through our lives, all designed to bring us back home to our Heavenly Father.  This experience is another one of his individual journey stories.