Last week, I spoke of struggles faced during my time in the MTC. Learning to cope with an environment where “serving the Lord” took on extreme definitions in the minds of some, led me to question my purpose for being there.
I was a fairly new member of the Church. Even growing up among Mormons in Utah, I had only attended church activities for two years when I embarked on my mission. I was the only practicing Mormon in my family, and was still growing accustomed to my new life as a Mormon.
Nevertheless, more than a year prior to leaving on a mission, I found a strong desire to do just that. For several months prior to departure, missionary service was my primary goal in life, and I was determined to see two years consecrated to spiritual activity.
Being in the MTC, and dealing with its associated trails, caused me to truly question whether I had made the proper choice. I had – though that realization didn't come at once. It came as the MTC yielded a number of life-changing experiences. I share just a few.
Sometime during my first few days at the compound, then First Counselor Thomas S. Monson paid a surprise visit. Missionaries by the thousands flocked to the largest meeting hall, to hear the leader's sermon. He spoke of the influence of missionary work on families. His words were so powerful, that they cultivated a nearly overwhelming sense of gratitude within me, the likes of which I have never felt before. My gratitude was primarily for my parents, as I truly recognized for the first time all the personal effort they had sacrificed on my behalf. Emotion overcame me, and I could not refrain from weeping after his sermon.
I also had some great leaders in the MTC. One, a counselor in our unit presidency, took special interest in me, and went out of his way to share meaningful conversations and experiences. He had a rich background, both academic and ecclesiastical, and I found communicating with him to be mutually uplifting. I remember another unit leader sharing his personal views on our potential successes as missionaries. His words carried conviction more powerful and sincere than I had ever witnessed before. As I walked from the room, I literally felt like I was flying, with such overwhelming happiness swelling within me.
The feelings associated with the Holy Ghost, joy, love, etc., where everywhere. It felt like living in an orchard of low-hanging spiritual fruit to be plucked at leisure. After toiling all day at language study, we would come home tired, treasuring every ounce of sleep, yet even my dreams felt spiritually uplifting and meaningful. At times I awoke during the night, certain I had just learned something valuable and feeling the need to immediately record the thoughts. Recently I re-read some of the written accounts of dreams, and realized how truly significant they have been in my life.
In addition to the feeling of spiritual satisfaction, the MTC was a place for good friends. Despite our youth, inexperience, and at times blatant immaturity, I made true friends for life. Even among some of those whose self-righteous behaviors make me want to vomit in the beginning I found friends. After a few weeks I recognized that they were simply trying to serve in the way they best understood, just as we all were.
The biggest blessing, however, came from being driven to truly discover what I believed about certain points of doctrine. Most specifically, I personally tackled my thoughts on Joseph Smith's calling as a Prophet of God. I realized that I had never really believed this to be true, despite my belief in the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and the divinity of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. This was concerning, and led me to read Smith's personal account several times, all the while while asking difficult questions and seeking answers. When the conviction finally came, I felt as if I had reached the summit of a mountain.
So you see, the MTC, though difficult and culturally odd in many ways, was still a wonderful experience, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity I am unlikely to face again. Never have nine weeks of my life held more long-term significance than did my time in the Missionary Training Center.
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