What a difference a year makes.  A year ago I was still avoiding places and people.   A year ago I didn’t care that it was spring and it was time to work in the yard.  A year ago I wasn’t even happy enough to take my pots to the nursery to be potted because I simply didn’t feel like anything was ever going to be the same again.  A year ago I didn’t even care that we canceled our family summer vacation because going somewhere as a family was another reminder that life hadn’t turned out the way I had expected it to and I was getting tired of explaining that to people.

As I was sitting in Relief Society yesterday, I was struck by one of the statements from Lorenzo Snow because it sums up the past year of my life.  The quote says, “The Lord has strengthened us and increased us in our growth.  Like the infant, when it grows up it knows not how it received gradual strength and the manner in which it increased in stature.  It is larger this year than last.  So in regard to our spiritual advancement.  We feel stronger today than we did a year ago…. (pg, 115  Teachings of Presidents of the Church – Lorenzo Snow

As I listened to our lesson yesterday it took me back to the days of being a young mother. Having five kids less than 8 years apart I don’t remember when they grew up.  I think I was too busy just surviving the day to day routine that I probably didn’t absorb the full joy of watching them grow and mature. I didn’t cry when they started walking because it meant one less kid to carry while being pregnant. I didn’t think my babies were growing up when they were potty trained because I was just happy that I had one less diaper to change. I didn’t cry when my babies went to kindergarten because it was one less child to run errands with and one less diaper bag to tote around.  Like many young, naïve, and overwhelmed mothers I know I spent a lot of time just wishing the phase of babies and toddlers away thinking that the next phase of life would be so much easier.  I often wonder if I spent so much time wishing away their baby days that I missed on many simple pleasures and lessons along the way.

As I thought of those days it made me reflect on where I was a year ago and I can see how much I have grown over time.  Like watching my children grow up, I think I turned around one a day a few months ago and realized that I had grown and healed significantly but can’t pinpoint an exact day or experience that led to that growth.  Like Lorenzo Snow says, I don’t know exactly when I “grew up” but it happened.  I am stronger today than I was a year ago and I think the reason why is because I know my son has grown as well.

My son was in a very dark place when he came home.  We knew we did not have the expertise as parents to give him the full mental help he probably needed so we asked him how he would feel about seeing a counselor.  To our surprise he agreed and it was really good for him. At first he met with a counselor once a week for a couple of months.  We saw the fog lift, he seemed to get stronger every week, he began to laugh and joke, and he began to feel happier again. His need to see the counselor diminished each month and within six months he didn't need to go anymore.  Six months after he came home he was able to move out on his own, got a full time job, and bought his own car.  He was able to meet people that have been a positive influence in his life.  I began to worry less and less about him because I felt he was getting both feet on the ground again and building his own life.  He was attending church on his own and probably for the first time in his life was building his own testimony. He would come home throughout the summer for different family parties and BBQ’s and each time he came home made me feel better about his progress.  I still mourned the fact that he was home and not serving a mission but those feelings were slowly, very, very slowly, beginning to ease.

We had family pictures taken in August of last year since it had been a few years since we had last taken them. When you have 5 teenagers they grow up and change very quickly.  When those pictures came back I was struck by the pictures of my son.  I hadn't realized the change in his face – maybe because I hadn't been looking for it or perhaps because it had been as gradual as the change of them growing from babies to toddlers.  As I looked at our family pictures I could see that my son’s countenance had changed.  He had the light of Christ back in his face - he looked like my son; the son that had once been lost. I studied every single picture and in every picture he was my son again.  At that moment I knew that he was going to be okay.  I knew that he too had survived something so very difficult and he had gradually been made whole again through the power of the Atonement.  I knew that it did not and could not matter anymore that he hadn't finished a mission because he had done what he needed to do to have that light of Christ inside of him.  He was healing and it was time for me to heal was well.  That was probably the first big turning point in my healing.

The second turning point came a few months later as I was sitting outside our Bishop’s office waiting for a Relief Society meeting to begin on a very cold January night.  As I sat there alone, I was looking at all the missionary plaques hanging outside his office.  Up until that day I always made a point of not looking at those because it still hurt. I remembered where my son’s plaque hung for a few short weeks and it was now replaced with another smiling elder.  In that quiet moment outside the Bishop’s office the Spirit testified to me that everything was okay – that everything was how it was supposed to be.  I had a feeling of total peace come over me while looking at those plaques and not seeing my son’s there.  For the first time it became okay that I was not a missionary mom and I didn't feel the need for that title any longer.  For the first time in a year I was able to let go of the disappointment and move on.  That burden was gone.

I know there have been other more subtle turning points that have come as I have attended the temple, gone to church each week, and found ways to serve others.  I know that I have been greatly healed in the simple mundane things that the gospel teaches us to do every day. In simply just keeping myself busy in surviving the day to day emotions of having a missionary return early I was strengthened because my Heavenly Father loves me and helped me learn to find joy again. I know I have spent much time wishing away this phase of life for something easier but I have learned to appreciate the growth that the Lord allowed me to experience.  I am so thankful for the gradual growth that has sustained me in what has been the hardest thing I have ever experienced so far in my life. 

This spring I am ready to work in my yard.  My pots are at the nursery and I am excited to pick them up in a few weeks.  The idea of planning a family vacation doesn't scare me like it did a year ago. I don’t avoid places and people as much as I used to although I’m not sure I’ll ever really get over having to tell people my son came home early.  I feel like life is returning to normal, albeit a new normal.

There are always subtle reminders everywhere I turn that can really set me back.  I can go weeks and not really think that my son would only have 6 months left if he had stayed out.  I can get through days where I don’t think about “it” at all.  I can go to stores, run errands, show up at high school events and no one asks my how my son is.  I love those weeks.  And then I can have a day, just one day, where every time I turn around there is another reminder.

I started off the day by running to Wal-Mart.  While I was there I ran into a lady whose ward we used to live in. Her husband had been our bishop.  Her grandson and my son are the same age and used to be playmates.  She asked how my son was doing and how excited we must be that he’d be home soon.  It’s been 14 months since he came home and I’m still shocked that everyone doesn’t know he came home.  News like that always seems to travel quickly.  But in that moment, once again, I had to explain that he had come home just weeks after leaving.  She then told me how her son had come home years ago from his mission early as well.  She told me how it nearly destroyed her; that she stayed in her house as much as she could for 18 months because she didn’t want to face anyone or answer questions.  She told me how it took everything she had to face the world again and not feel like a failure as a mother.  I felt validated in all the things I have felt the past 14 months because I know that other mothers, other parents, struggle to make sense of it all too.  I also looked at this woman that I have admired for years and thought, “she survived. I can too.”

As I was leaving Wal Mart I ran into another lady and her son who used to live in our current ward.  She was beaming and bursting with excitement because they had just finished all the medical paperwork for their son’s mission papers and couldn’t wait to turn the papers in.  I sat and listened to her talk about how soon she thought he would leave, all the possibilities of where he could serve, and how excited their family was.  I told her how awesome it would be, how happy I was for them, and I’d be excited to see where he would be serving. And I genuinely mean that.  All I wanted to do was finish that conversation and get out before I had to explain for a second time in 20 minutes that my son was home and not on the tail end of his mission.  But that didn’t happen.  But I took courage in knowing that other mom’s survive this and I will too.

An hour late I learned a dear friend’s daughter was given the gift of a new baby through the miracle of adoption.  My friend wanted to run to the temple at the last minute before flying out to help her daughter.  She asked me to come along with her and I willingly went without a thought of what day and what time it was.  When we arrived at the Provo temple I realized it was a Wednesday afternoon at 1 PM.  There were hundreds of parents there with their missionaries dropping them off at the MTC. But I smiled at all those parents we passed even though it still stings a bit.

And of course when I got home a couple hours later and checked Facebook, three of my friends had kids who had gotten mission calls and one friend had posted a video of them dropping their daughter off at the MTC.  And I said out loud, to no one in particular, "Really?!"  That's a lot of reminders in 6 hours :)

And then my husband came home from work that night and talked of a co-worker who was having dinner with a friend in a few hours whose son had returned home after 5 days in the MTC.  This co-worker came to my husband, knowing that my husband would understand what his friend was experiencing, and asked how he could support his devastated friend.  As I related all my experiences through the day to my husband we both felt that heaviness in our hearts. But we also feel more determined to write about the things we experience and feel so that others may draw strength. I am realizing I will never escape the subtle reminders that are a part of everyday life but they don’t have to de-rail my forward progress.  I can feel empowered that I’m still standing and still facing the world. There is strength in knowing that we are not alone in our struggles or the way we feel.  My husband and I hoped as we went to bed that night that a family in a neighboring town who had just picked up their son would find hope and comfort in our little blog.

Every month my 12 year old daughter and I have a date to McDonalds for lunch after she sees the orthodontist.  She informs me she deserves her monthly date because she has to endure the torture of wearing braces.  As we were sitting in McDonald’s eating our hamburgers I noticed a young man, probably close to the same age as my son that was obviously handicapped who was working in the lobby.  As my daughter was talking to me I began to watch this young man more closely.  I watched him clear off a table and then sweep the floor around the table.  Every movement he made was slow, painfully awkward, and he seemed so uncertain of what he was supposed to be doing.  As a mom my heart went out to this young man that was struggling to complete such a simple and easy task.  What would have taken me 5 minutes to do was taking this young man 30 minutes to complete.  He finally completed his job and then went on his lunch break.  He stood by the table he had just finished cleaning and began another long and painfully slow process of pulling a very bulky wallet out of his pocket.  It took him several attempts and several minutes to finally pull his wallet out and get $3 so he could order lunch.   I couldn’t help but notice how thin and boney his hands were and how his movements were painstakingly slow.

As I continued to watch this young man my heart felt full as I realized he was someone’s son.  Somewhere there was a mom who has watched her son struggle with the simplest tasks in life.  I was not this young man’s mom but in the few minutes I had been watching him I wanted to help him clean his table, sweep the floor, get his wallet, and serve him lunch.  I wanted to do everything for him so I wouldn’t have to watch him struggle.  I wanted to put my arms around this young man and tell him how awesome I thought he was for working when it was obviously a challenge for him.  I wanted to find his mom and say, “you must be so proud of your son for his ability to work in spite of his physical handicaps.”

And then it hit me.  I have not always showed that same love and compassion to my own son.  Physically, on the outside, he is just fine.  But on the inside, spiritually, he is no different from the young man I was watching and wanted to help.  I had to remind myself that I need to have that same love and compassion for my own son who is perhaps just as emotionally and spiritually handicapped right now as this young man is physically handicapped.  At that moment it didn't make any sense to me why I could have so much love and compassion towards this young man and not towards my own son.  I realized how very wrong I have been to let my hurt and anger overpower my ability to help my own “handicapped” son who took the first steps to heal himself spiritually.  I needed to remind myself to my son how awesome I thought he was in spite of how public and difficult his journey has been.

Sometimes I wish emotional and spiritual handicaps were as obvious as physical handicaps but they aren't.   Our inside handicaps need more love, compassion, and understanding than maybe those that struggle with such obvious physical disabilities. As hard as it is to watch a child struggle I know it’s in those struggles that we become teachable, whole and healed.  None of us are any different from that young man in that we all struggle while a loving Heavenly Father watches over us and has made it possible for us to be whole again. I needed that reminder in a McDonald's on a dreary winter day.  I’m so thankful Heavenly Father allows us to have these lessons during hard times.

I still remember every detail of “that day.”   “That day” started like every day in December where my husband and I take a day off and get all our Christmas shopping done.  It is a day we have both always enjoyed as have our kids.  They love knowing that while they are at school mom and dad are buying gifts; sometimes sending them text messages to clarify items on their lists.  The kids love being banned into our bedroom as we bring our packages into the house, down into my husband’s office, then place a blanket over all the packages until I can get them wrapped.  It is always a happy day for all.

“That day” started just as normally.  The older girls had left for school.  My husband was in the shower getting ready, while my youngest daughter and I were pouring cereal into our bowls for breakfast.  The phone rang at 8:30 AM.  The caller ID showed our stake presidents name which wasn't too alarming at first because he is our next door neighbor.  I answered the phone while pouring milk in my cereal.  Our stake president isn't a man of small talk so he got right to the point.  He asked if he could see my husband and I in his office that night at 9.  My heart stopped and then sunk.  I began to shake. To this day I still shake as I think about that moment.  I asked him, “Is everything okay with my son?  Do I need to be worried?”  He paused, a very long pause, and said, “We always need to pray for our missionaries.”  And in that moment I knew that if my son was dead or gravely injured he would not be waiting until 9 PM to tell me that kind of news.  News travels to quickly to wait these days.  In that moment I knew that my son would be coming home just 9 weeks into his mission – 10 days after arriving in his assigned country.

I’m not sure what all I said at that point but I remember I had to hold it together because my 11 year old was talking excitedly at me about her Christmas list.  I told her to eat her breakfast because I needed to talk to dad.  As I walked to the bathroom, I was crying.  I never cry – at least I didn’t used to cry.  As I repeated the conversation with the stake president to my husband, the reality quickly settled in. 

We took our youngest to school without saying anything to her.  I don’t think she picked up that anything was amiss.  We sat in our kitchen for an hour not saying much and unsure what to do.  12 ½ hours is a very, very long time to wait to hear the news you already know in your heart.  We also knew sitting in the kitchen for 12 ½ wasn’t going to help anything. We figured we would try and make the most of what was supposed to be a very fun day.  We also resolved not to say anything to our four daughters until we had facts.  They all had fun days planned – school activities, big rivalry basketball game and dance.  No sense in ruining everyone’s day.  Again, it would be nice if there was some type of protocol to follow in these situations.

We left to go shopping but neither one of us could concentrate.  At our first stop we ran into friends that asked how our son was doing.  We told them we weren’t really sure how he was doing, which wasn’t a lie.  We somehow managed to awkwardly joke off that moment and I managed not to cry.  The rest of the day we spent trying to focus on buying presents but not caring about anything.  Our girls sent us text messages asking if we were finding everything okay because we usually had more questions for them than we did on this day.  I would break down in the mall and try to find a corner where no one could see me.  It was pointless to think we were going to accomplish anything and yet time stood still. 

We came home with very little packages which slightly alarmed the girls but there wasn't much time to worry about anything.  They were busy getting ready for the big game and stomp.  They reminded us that we had promised to go – we never miss the rivalry game.  And so we went.  I don't know why it was so important to appear normal when nothing felt normal.  I remember sitting at that basketball game making small talk with friends and neighbors wishing the game would end but knowing as soon as it was over, it was time to go see the stake president.  I was caught between two worlds; one where my son was still a missionary and all was well and the other knowing that he wouldn't be a missionary much longer and all wasn't going to ever be well.  I don’t even remember anymore who won the game.

We brought our youngest daughters home and told them to get ready for bed and watch a movie while we went to visit with someone.  I still couldn't bring myself to shatter their world.  My husband and I were still wearing our school shirts and jeans from the game and we both wondered if we were supposed to dress up for such a meeting.  I decided if I was about to be told my son was coming home then I would be dressed comfortably and we went in jeans.

I cried the whole way over to the church.  We decided to walk the two blocks to the church because we didn't want anyone to see our car in the parking lot on a Friday night at 9 PM.  That would only set off rumors and I hadn't even thought about how to handle this with others.  I was too focused on how things were about to change, how I would tell my girls and family, and how I could keep from throwing up.

I think the thing I remember the most about that night is the Stake President asking me why I was crying before we even got into his office.  I remember finding that so odd because he knew I had had 12 ½ hours to think about nothing else.  I know that we prayed, read a couple of scriptures, and then he told us the news that I already knew.  The events after that moment become fuzzier in my mind the more time goes by.  For that, I am thankful.  I am sure most of us have tried to block that from our mind.

Telling our girls was hard.  Our two youngest were home and could tell something was wrong when we walked in the door.  They too have never seen mom cry and I was crying.  I don’t remember what we said to them exactly, just that their brother would be home Wednesday night.  They started to cry, and cry, and cry some more.  They kept saying, “It’s not supposed to end this way.”  Our oldest two daughters were at the stomp and for whatever reason, we decided to wait to tell them until they got home at 11.  Maybe it was easier to deal with the emotions of girls in small doses.  Our 15 year old came home as soon as the stomp was over and she too knew something was instantly wrong when she came in the house.  Her reaction was much different.  She was mad.  She went through the house and took down or turned over every picture of her brother, went to room and refused to talk to anyone until the next morning. I know she cried herself to sleep.  I heard her through the door.

 Our 17 year old was hanging out with friends after the stomp so we began sending her text messages saying she needed to come home.  She didn't understand why since her curfew was midnight and it was only 11:15.  We finally called her and told her to come home.  She said, “You are starting to freak me out.  What is going on?”  We told her to come home which she did.  I think she took the news the hardest.  She sobbed and was only consoled when her dear friend came over at 11:45 while she cried and asked, “Why would he do this?”  At some point that night we also called our parents to tell them their grandson would be home far sooner than expected.  You could hear the heaviness and disappointment in their voices and I felt I had failed another generation of people I respected greatly.

Every year I look forward to Christmas.  I am one of those that  will put up my Christmas decorations the week of Thanksgiving, much to my husband’s dismay (he has learned that he can’t stop me because I do it all while he’s at work).  Every year I look forward to opening the storage totes and finding things I bought on clearance last year that I have forgotten about over the year.  I knew this year was going to be different. 

On Friday, we will mark the one year day of “the phone call” that changed life for us, and probably more for me.  I was in such a daze a year ago that I don’t even remember boxing up my decorations which was problematic this year when I couldn’t remember what totes everything had been put into.  I didn’t go clearance shopping which was disappointing when I opened my totes and found nothing new to display this year.  In spite of me trying to stay positive and not focus on where I was a year ago, I found post it notes that had the Bishop and Stake Presidents work and cell phone numbers so that we could get a hold of them as travel arrangements and interview appointments were made for our son who came home two weeks before Christmas. 

But I pushed through all that and Christmas did get put up although it wasn't before Thanksgiving.  I think that is a first for me.  As I was decorating my trees (yes, I said trees.  I have four) I kept thinking to myself, “Well, at least I know the Bishop, Stake President, and Relief Society, won’t be over here trying to console a family.”  But all those thoughts factored into my decorating and I made sure I did an extra good job this year.  Maybe I’m trying to vindicate myself from last year – who knows why we woman think the things we think :D  Regardless, my decorating looks good because I think I’ll always carry that memory every single Christmas.  But I also take comfort in the fact that never again can I be delivered a blow like that again.

But this isn't my point.  My point is this:  It has almost been a year now and what have I learned?  As I was studying the conference Ensign on Sunday, I came across this quote from Elder Quinten L. Cook’s talk called, Can Ye Feel So Now.  It is a quote from Oliver Wendall Holmes that says, “I find the great thing in this world is not so much where we stand, as in what direction we are moving:  To reach the port of heaven, we must sail sometimes with the wind and sometimes against it,-but we must sail, and not drift, nor lie at anchor.” 

This reminds me of the picture of the Tree of Life, the darkness, the spacious building, those that made it to the tree that are encouraging those still trudging through the darkness, and those that have let go.  It wasn't enough to just hold on to the iron rod, you had to make forward progress in order to reach the tree.  You had to put one foot in front of the other, one hand over the other hand to hold onto the rod. 

Perhaps I have spent this year doing more drifting. Maybe lots of learning that I don’t quite recognize yet, but I didn't let go.  I still have faith; my testimony was shaken I hate to admit, but my faith still largely intact. I still go to church every week, even when I know there is a farewell or homecoming talk, because I know that I can’t let go.  I have continued to serve in a demanding church calling because Heavenly Father knew I would need that calling to appreciate the trials I have and come to love others in a way I never would have sought.    I still struggle to make sense of a missionary that came home early, of a child I raised that wasn't honest with me, of still standing tall when I want to be swallowed up sometimes at church, but I am determined to reach the port of heaven and not let this be an anchor around my leg.  And I can learn and feel all these things with more meticulously decorated trees this year…just in case :D

Out of nowhere it seems that everything – every emotion, every negative thought, the insecurities, all the anger, the hurt, all of it – is brought back to the center in just an instance.  I’m not sure when and if that will ever end.  I certainly have hope that it will.

There was a mission farewell in our ward today.  Those don’t sting as much as they used to even six months ago which proves that time and prayer has been working for me.  I can look at these families of the elders and be excited for them and remember all those happy feelings I had as my brief stint as a missionary mom less than a year ago.  I am truly happy for every elder and their family and perhaps I hold my breath a little for them hoping their journey ends better than ours.

What I haven’t figured out yet is how to handle the speakers that I know are fulfilling their duty as priesthood leaders of the church and perhaps don’t realize that their words can sting.  The speaker was talking about the new missionary changes and how the shortened time in the MTC requires every single person to help prepare the youth to serve.  He said, “We need good parents, dedicated parents, to teach their kids to be prepared to serve. We can’t have any more kids that have not been prepared.”  And then I am reminded all over again that I was not, am not, a good parent because I didn't raise that kid.  And I look out over the congregation to the other families that have walked this road and see the same look and emotion on their faces that I am feeling.    And just like that, I feel that all the forward progress I have made is erased and I've got to fight through all those feelings again.  Nothing like having all your deepest thoughts and fears confirmed over the pulpit :) 

Like many priesthood holders I look forward to General Priesthood Meeting as it comes around every six months. We are a blessed people. Seriously. Think of it this way: One of the many consequences of a highly digitized and connected world is a proliferation of opinion and counter opinion. It is easy to become confused. It is easy to wander after any number of voices. But with a prophet of God to guide and direct it is easy to rise above the fray and see clearly.

With the announcement made by President Monson today, it’s hard to think of anything else but missions once again.  As soon as “the announcement” was made, social media lit up.  Facebook and Twitter had nothing but comments ranging from how soon their kids could serve, how many kids they could have out at one time, transferring money from the tuition savings account to the mission account, to there being no freshman at BYU next year.  While increasing the opportunities for young men and young women to serve is always a good thing, I can’t help but hope this does not turn into a double edge sword.

I have wondered all day today that if that announcement had been made even eighteen months ago, would it have impacted my son and our family differently?  My son graduated from high school as a young senior, he turned 18 three months later, and we had a full year to wait before he could serve.  And I know now in that year Satan won the battle for his ability to serve as we found out the hard way.  I can see how in that year it is a very long time for young men to wait and even more opportunities for them to lose their eligibility or desire to serve.

  My daughter, who is 18, has many, many young men friends that have been bothered by having to wait a year – they want to serve.  They want nothing more than to be out there on their missions and according to their Facebook statutes tonight, their papers will go in by the end of the week.  They cannot be more excited and I’m so excited for them.   They are worthy, they are willing, and they are ready so why make them wait?

My fear for many young men is this:  will they feel even more pressured and obligated to serve?  How do we not start wondering why one young man is out serving at 18 and why another may be waiting until he’s 19?  Will we start associating those serving at 18 as more worthy than those that choose not to serve that young?  There are huge gaps in maturity at that age and what happens if we start sending too many kids, and these are kids we are dealing with, out to serve before they are prepared?  Will we see more young men coming home than we ever have before?  As one mother who has walked that road, I pray that does not happen.  I wouldn’t wish that on anyone

When summer came this year, I found my clothes were a little to snug.  I guess a winter spent in sweats and eating lots of chocolate to ease the guilt and pain had found a way to surface.  My friend and neighbor who also had a son come home early just weeks after our son came home, found herself in the same situation with her summer clothes so we decided to walk every morning.  I was a little hesitant about this at first because I did not want to spend every morning wallowing in grief.  I didn’t want either one of us to feel like all we could talk about was the hurt, anger, and injustices of having sons return home early.  And she must have felt the same way because for an hour each morning we talked about everything else that life sends our way and only occasionally talked about our sons and how they, and we, were holding up.  I will admit, every time a neighbor would drive by us on their way to work I wondered if they would think, “Oh, that’s a good walking combination since they both have ‘one of those kids.’”

One morning in July, we were just finishing our walk and passing our church when we see the Bishop’s family walking towards the church with their son who was leaving for the MTC in a matter of hours.  Here is a family with brothers, sisters, and grandparents, all heading to the church to have their elder set apart and embark on their journey with a missionary.  The same thing we had both done just months earlier.  We knew what the Bishop’s family was feeling.  We also knew what each other was feeling in our hearts, stomach, and mind at that very moment without having to say a word.  There is a strength that instantly comes from knowing someone else is feeling my pain and sadness.  It validates me.  We wished the elder well and congratulated their family.  Because, after all, it’s every Mormon mothers dream to get to that day.

Later that night we were at a wedding reception for our dear friend’s son.  As we sat at the table visiting with friends, the Bishop and his wife arrived at the reception.  I was truly surprised to see the wife there.  When I dropped my son off at the MTC, I cried for the whole day. But that’s why she is a Bishops wife – they are stronger.  I asked how it had gone dropping off her son and how she was holding up.  I quickly became sorry I had asked that question.  She immediately told me for the next several minutes “how happy she was for this day, that her son had been preparing for his whole life for this experience, nothing would be sending him home, he was ready, he was a good kid, and she was ready to just sit back, not worry, and let the blessings pour out over their family.”  I was to speechless to say anything.  I felt an inch tall and wanted the ground to open up so I didn’t have to face that awkward moment.Yes, everything she said about her son was true and I know her intentions were not to hurt. But what a slap that was to me.  I too wanted to sit back and not worry and have blessings poured out on my family too.  And then I thought I guess my kid wasn’t a good kid, and clearly wasn’t prepared or ready and she knew this but how come I didn’t?  How come I didn’t get it?  If I had, I never, ever would have sent him out.

I have had mothers who have sons struggling with the decision to go on a mission ask me if they should push their sons to go.  I may rot in hell for this but I have told these women I wish I had never sent my son.  I wish everyday that I had never pushed him to go.  That was my fault.  If there are mothers out there who have sons that are questioning whether to serve, I would say to find out why they are hesitant.  Find the difference between the normal fear a young man would have of something so big and new and the possibility that there are things a young man may have done that makes them not worthy to serve.  I regret that I didn’t do that every single day and probably always will.  I’m a Mormon mom.  I love to find reasons to make me feel guilty.  Maybe because I can eat more chocolate and justify it :D