President Uchtdorf came to visit Buenos Aires when I was about 19 months out. My parents' divorce had just erupted in all its gore. Shattered images of what my life had been and would be were seconded only by my deep concern for my little brothers and other siblings that didn't have the luxury of 6,000 miles separating them from insanity. In spite of this blessing of distance, I could not help but feel the weight of the sacrifice I was making to remain on my mission. My family needed me, or at least I like to think so.
Though we were all moved and thrilled to listen to President Uchtdorf, I regret that the only thing I remember him saying was that when we were off our missions, we could sleep in as much as we'd like on Saturdays. Odd. But then, just before the closing prayer, he in great sincerity and earnestness offered a blessing. In it he said that we would receive miracles beyond imagining because of the sacrifices we had made to be there.
Miracles? I had always loved miracles. What do miracles even look like? Some say life is a miracle, or that the sunrise is a miracle. Others would say great bolts of lightening or visitations from angels or spirits are requisite for miracles. Me? I fall in between I suppose. As much as I love the sunrise every day, and as much as I admire the beauty of life, certainly a miracle to me is something beyond what I could imagine as possible. It has to go beyond, I suppose, what I am able to either comprehend, explain, or expect. I don't know; I'm not trying to get technical.
Life after my mission was complicated, or depressing, or just foggy. Something like that. I spent the first year after my mission trying hard to re-evaluate what I had taken for granted. There are some, I'm sure, who understand how this goes. There are lots of questions. There is a lot of anger. There is constant confusion. More than anything , there's a listlessness or purposelessness that I would never have thought possible in my own life.
So where, I wondered, was the miracle I was promised? It had been a year since I'd come home and I'd seen only failed dates, a continuously hurting family, and slipping grades.
Why is it we think miracles occur instantly? The parting of the seas, the taming of the lions, the incredible resistance to fire. It's as though miracles are only shows of divine power and not greater, deeper divine blessings. Well, unfortunately, I didn't see great pillars of light or hear angels singing when I met Jaimie. No. The first time I met her she wouldn't even talk to me (supposedly because she had just eaten an onion and was embarrassed about her breath). The next time I really met her, still no choirs singing.
In fact, my time with Jaimie was entirely different. It was, oddly, completely non-sensational. It was always like going back to a home I'd never had. It was as though she had always been in my life, but had gone missing for the past 22 years.
Now guys, I'm not trying to be mushy or lame or anything. I'm serious. I'm dead serious. My life right now is something I honestly didn't ever expect or think possible. Now I know lots of men who love their wives. That's not what I'm getting at. I know lots of men who would say their wives are miracles, or that they don't deserve their wives. But I'm not saying that in a poetic way. I'm saying it literally. I have proof positive that miracles are real, and that the promises of an apostle really come true.
Why am I even talking about this? For those that know me, I'm usually fairly shy and certainly wouldn't write something like this on a blog for the whole damn world to read. So here's the punchline.
Jaimie recently wrote something on this blog about her frustration over deciding what she's going to do about a potential internship this coming year. I later took the post down (with Jaimie's permission) for a couple of reasons, only one of which is important.
Jaimie is my miracle; she is the life I never thought possible and the home I'll always want to return to. I have siblings that I love and care about, and they love me in return. I have friends that have been more like brothers than anything; the best friends anybody could have in the world. But Jaimie is home. She is everything that makes sense in my world, and she is everything that makes my world sensible. So for her to even think that she hasn't accomplished anything, or that she doesn't fulfill her goals, is hurtful. She saved my life in a very literal way; she took me from bleak prospects and misguided anger to a cozy paradise home of our own.
I would recommend you remember this moment only because it'll be perhaps the most embarrassing one of my life. Exposing the most important things in our lives is always embarrassing, if only because it makes us vulnerable. On the other hand, sometimes things are so important to us that we can't keep them to ourselves. Maybe I just wish the world could, if only for an instant, see Jaimie through my eyes. What's more, maybe I just wish she could.
January Blues
6 years ago
