Let Mem’ry Salve as Gilead’s Caressing
This weekend I drove to Kemmerer, Wyoming to get away for the weekend, visit a friend and do a little traveling. On my way home, I found myself reminiscing. A dangerous activity, for sure; I can never be too certain where my mental wanderings will take me. And, in spite of my current struggles with the Church, I found myself putting on a CD I listened to often when I was a missionary. And I spent thirty minutes of the three hours drive, just reminiscing.
For those of you who may not know, I served as a Mormon missionary from 2011-2013. As I look back on it, mixed feelings arise. On the whole, it was a typical mission: lots of work, sweating, tears, laughter, loneliness, and a whole lot of growth. However, six months before I returned home, I had a spate of experiences that shattered my mind and initiated my current struggles with severe depression, an anxiety disorder, and bipolar disorder. It triggered tremendous doubt and anger at God. Without those experiences, my mission would have been a net positive. But honestly, those experiences poisoned the rest of the mission, and have caused me to seriously consider whether or not the whole thing was even worth it given the effect that portion of my mission had on me.
I took this picture in my first area: New Albany, Indiana, just across the enormous Ohio River from the city of Louisville, Kentucky, and before any of the aforementioned experiences. Up until that most of my mission selfies were so silly as to preclude their use here, which makes me laugh. Typical me. Here, we were waiting for a train to pass so we could cross the tracks on our bikes, but otherwise I don’t remember much immediate context for the picture.
But I do remember some things about the broader context. I remember how hard it was for me to get up and go every day. I remember how difficult it was to understand what was expected of me, and how exactly to go about meeting those expectations. For those of you not familiar with what it’s like to be a Mormon missionary, it isn’t an easy experience. There’s very high behavioral standards, and each day comes with lots of rejection and loneliness, especially when the pair of missionaries involved don’t get along. Further, missionaries face absurdly high expectations within our Church; if you aren’t an angel, the people notice, and since most 18-21 year old young men aren’t angels (including me, it turns out) it was often difficult if not impossible to obtain trust and very easy to lose it, at least in my experience.
My reminiscings also brought me to the period before my mission. Perhaps I am the only one out there like this, but my reasons for going on a mission were...complicated. Most of my immediate family and many of my extended family had gone on missions, most of my peers were going, and so there was definitely a measure of “this is just the thing to do” going on in my life. At the time, I put on pretenses to having much more faith than I really had due to the social pressures surrounding me. I said things like “I know the Church is true” “I know this Gospel is true,” etc. I honestly didn’t. I thought I did, but in moments of reflection when I was truly honest with myself, I realized that I had no certain knowledge.
But at the same time, there was a streak of obstinate sincerity underlying the morass of my complex motivations. Underlying my mask was a small flame of sincere, if untried faith that undergirded and empowered my efforts. As I reminisced, listening to the music, it occurred to me just how courageous the young man in this picture was. I get emotional thinking about it. Giving up two years of life to a whole lot of opposition, drudgery and turmoil for a cause about which he was not truly certain, but sincerely believed to be good? Wow. What a courageous young man this was. What faith he had! What trust, in himself and God! How proud I feel of him for his courageous, faithful, trusting decisions!
As I reminisced my thoughts turned to these words by David Warner:
“And barren coves be filled,
O'erflow with reverie!
Let mem'ry salve as Gilead's caressing.
And though the balm be spread,
Let tender rifts remain
That breaking hearts not yield to forgetting.”
Remembering that courage is a balm to my soul. It doesn’t fix everything that was messed up about my mission, and indeed it shouldn’t. If that pain disappeared entirely, so would the lessons I derive from it. Rather, it reminds me that if that young man could take such a courageous step into the darkness, then so can this slightly older man. If that young man could display such sincerity of faith, then I have that capacity now as well. Sure, I may be even less certain of religious and spiritual things now than I was then, but just as he took a step into the direction he thought best for himself, so can I do the same now, come what may.
For those of you who may not know, I served as a Mormon missionary from 2011-2013. As I look back on it, mixed feelings arise. On the whole, it was a typical mission: lots of work, sweating, tears, laughter, loneliness, and a whole lot of growth. However, six months before I returned home, I had a spate of experiences that shattered my mind and initiated my current struggles with severe depression, an anxiety disorder, and bipolar disorder. It triggered tremendous doubt and anger at God. Without those experiences, my mission would have been a net positive. But honestly, those experiences poisoned the rest of the mission, and have caused me to seriously consider whether or not the whole thing was even worth it given the effect that portion of my mission had on me.
I took this picture in my first area: New Albany, Indiana, just across the enormous Ohio River from the city of Louisville, Kentucky, and before any of the aforementioned experiences. Up until that most of my mission selfies were so silly as to preclude their use here, which makes me laugh. Typical me. Here, we were waiting for a train to pass so we could cross the tracks on our bikes, but otherwise I don’t remember much immediate context for the picture.
But I do remember some things about the broader context. I remember how hard it was for me to get up and go every day. I remember how difficult it was to understand what was expected of me, and how exactly to go about meeting those expectations. For those of you not familiar with what it’s like to be a Mormon missionary, it isn’t an easy experience. There’s very high behavioral standards, and each day comes with lots of rejection and loneliness, especially when the pair of missionaries involved don’t get along. Further, missionaries face absurdly high expectations within our Church; if you aren’t an angel, the people notice, and since most 18-21 year old young men aren’t angels (including me, it turns out) it was often difficult if not impossible to obtain trust and very easy to lose it, at least in my experience.
My reminiscings also brought me to the period before my mission. Perhaps I am the only one out there like this, but my reasons for going on a mission were...complicated. Most of my immediate family and many of my extended family had gone on missions, most of my peers were going, and so there was definitely a measure of “this is just the thing to do” going on in my life. At the time, I put on pretenses to having much more faith than I really had due to the social pressures surrounding me. I said things like “I know the Church is true” “I know this Gospel is true,” etc. I honestly didn’t. I thought I did, but in moments of reflection when I was truly honest with myself, I realized that I had no certain knowledge.
But at the same time, there was a streak of obstinate sincerity underlying the morass of my complex motivations. Underlying my mask was a small flame of sincere, if untried faith that undergirded and empowered my efforts. As I reminisced, listening to the music, it occurred to me just how courageous the young man in this picture was. I get emotional thinking about it. Giving up two years of life to a whole lot of opposition, drudgery and turmoil for a cause about which he was not truly certain, but sincerely believed to be good? Wow. What a courageous young man this was. What faith he had! What trust, in himself and God! How proud I feel of him for his courageous, faithful, trusting decisions!
As I reminisced my thoughts turned to these words by David Warner:
“And barren coves be filled,
O'erflow with reverie!
Let mem'ry salve as Gilead's caressing.
And though the balm be spread,
Let tender rifts remain
That breaking hearts not yield to forgetting.”
Remembering that courage is a balm to my soul. It doesn’t fix everything that was messed up about my mission, and indeed it shouldn’t. If that pain disappeared entirely, so would the lessons I derive from it. Rather, it reminds me that if that young man could take such a courageous step into the darkness, then so can this slightly older man. If that young man could display such sincerity of faith, then I have that capacity now as well. Sure, I may be even less certain of religious and spiritual things now than I was then, but just as he took a step into the direction he thought best for himself, so can I do the same now, come what may.
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