I grew up in the very tail end of the era that believed sister missionaries to be….well….you know….sister missionaries. The ones that couldn’t get married, the ones that were too good to get married, etc. & yeah, I hate Mormon culture for putting that idea in my head, but it is what it is.
For this reason, I never everevereverevereverever imagined myself everevereverever going on a mission. Like…gross. Ew. When the missionary age change was announced, I was in the middle of a long-term relationship & I was still 18, so it didn’t really pertain to me. I thought it was kind of cool & I had a lot of friends who jumped on that wagon & headed out to preach the gospel at the young age of 19. Good for them. (but I still had that stigma of “Ew, sister missionaries” in my head, BUT LOVE YOU GIRLS YOU’RE SO CUTE MUAH xoxox) Fast forward to June of 2013. I was living with some family in France for a month, & just having the most spiritual, life-altering ah-ha moments. Seriously, when people ask me why I went, I now tell them “So I could find myself” because that’s what I ended up doing & because I’m the most cliché person in the world.
Anyway, I had been there about 3 weeks when I was walking down one of the beautiful Parisian streets, probably eating a pastry because I wasn’t ever not eating a pastry, looking around at all of the people around me & thinking about the incredible experiences I’d had with church members in the past weeks. I then started to get really sad thinking about how every single person I was watching walk by me had probably no idea that they have a Father in Heaven that is so concerned about their daily life & wants nothing more than for them to be successful & happy. For the first time in my life, I thought to myself, “What if I went on a mission?”