Cory, Dusty & Little Angel

The little family at the hospital

I feel like I should write these next Posts in order to give a perspective.  Each of the events added to each other causing my decisions.  If I didn't have this experience with Dusty and her family then I would not have made the choice to return to my mission which in turn would mean that I would not have met Elder Collins. Who, with the way he interacted with me, solidified my beliefs. Our choices define us.  What we do with the good and bad in our lives is who we are.  And this was one of the turning points for me.

OK, last weeks post should give you an idea of how unprepared I was for my mission.  I jumped in with both feet and my eyes closed.  I know now that was the best for me because if I known any better I would not have gone.

Background.  I did not have the average male missionary experience.  Talking with other female missionaries I find I have more in common with them, but it was still a rough go for me.  You have to know that I was very anti-social due to the treatment I had received growing up.  A mission was a relatively safe environment compared to most of the rest of the world.  Companions were forced to deal with me.  I had to realize my way of thinking was not like the rest of my peers. I hurt a lot of feelings by not understanding.  I am sure each one of my companions has a major complaint about me.  Still I think it was quite brave of me to even be willing to interact with people at all.  I still had faith in them despite my experiences.

I don't understand why my Mission President decided to put me with a trainer who was very ill.  The day we meet she informed the Pres, that she had to have gall bladder surgery.  That first 6 weeks, which happened at Christmas, was a mess.  I didn't learn how to be a missionary.  Sister O was struggling.  I had to stay with her in the hospital.  Then her brother died and she was too ill to attend his funeral.  I didn't know how to help or what to do.  It was like being on your first day as a hostess in a restaurant only to have everyone gone and you leave you charge to take care of the cooking for the lunch rush.  I did not handle it well and Sister O had plenty of reasons to resent me.  Infact, later when we saw each other again at a conference she asked me why I hated her.  I was surprised by the question and able to assure her I never felt that way, but that I was very frustrated with the situation I was put into.

So I was transferred to Sister H in Worland, Wyo.  That proved to be a disaster also.  I experienced the darker side of a mission with sister H.  She was so deceptively innocent.  I had no reason not to believe her stories, but as I spent more time with her I became embarrassed by her outrageous behaviour.  We were constantly breaking the rules.  I am sure she has all kinds of complaints about me.  That is an understatement.  I happen to know she spread stories about me that caused  a lot of problems later in my mission.  Just know that it got bad enough for me to want out of there.  I called the President begging to be Emergency Transferred out, but he had the higher more prominent leaders of the church at mission headquarters because of the new temple building site in Billings, Mt.  I told him I would hang on.  I had a huge spiritual upheaval during this time both good and bad so I was a pain in the butt to Sister H and the pair of Elders in Worland.

Thankfully Transfers came and I was ready to get out of there only the phone call came and I had to stay.  I was so disappointed.  I received a new companion Sister G and I will always love her for teaching me how to be a missionary.  We had been companions for about a month when Sister G blew up at me.
           "You never help!  I feel like I have to do everything!"

She was completely right.  I had no idea what a missionary did every day.  I was 4 months out before I knew how to plan a day or the answers to give to the basic questions asked by investigators.  Sister G taught me how to work.

So that is the back drop for this very strange situation with Dusty.

We had a place to go and hang out with the McIntosh family.  They had us over for dinner all the time and we played games.  Unexpectedly Tammy McIntosh's sister Dusty arrived at her home.  She had been a member of the church as a child, but had since left.  Through nights of playing Skip-Bo we learned her dire situation. 

Dusty was 8 months pregnant, as we played the card game at the table she would show us an outline of a rouge foot pressing against her stomach.  According to Tammy, Dusty had a horrible boyfriend and father of the baby named Cory.  He was heavily into drugs and Dusty had been caught up in it.  Tammy had rescued Dusty from the drug life in Colorado and had brought her to Worland, Wyoming.  Tammy was annoyed that Cory had followed Dusty and they were still having to deal with him.  I never saw him during that time, but the girls complained that he had a darkness around him.

Never thinking that I would get caught up in this family drama I stayed at arms length trying not to make a judgement on anyone. 

Tammy called us in a panic.  Dusty was going into labor and she had no one to watch the kids while she went to the hospital.  We were unable to help for some reason I don't remember, so she called the Elders.  They ended up babysitting until Mr. McIntosh got home.  At that time I did not see any problem with us as Missionaries helping in the situation, but after Sister G. I figued out it is not appropriate for us to intercede in that way.  A member of the church should have been called to help. 

We shared a car with the Elders and went to pick them up from the McIntosh's.  Tammy called while we were there asking that some supplies be brought by the hospital and Sister H. volunteered for us to go.  I should have spoken up since it was past our curfew, but the Elders seemed to be on board and they were the leaders of our section of the mission, so I thought I was wrong.

I did not want to see a woman in labor.  It was the first time for such an awful sight for me.  I had no experience with babies or taking care of babies.  My brother is 3 years younger, so I don't remember him in that state.  I didn't understand the demands or how difficult it is to be a new mother.  It felt very wrong for me to intrude on such a personal moment.  I finally got enough guts to tell the others I didn't want to go, but they didn't listen to me.

We entered the hospital room to pass the bag of stuff off to Tammy.  What do you say in a situation like that?  I was almost a complete stranger being asked to share what I thought was an intimate moment.  Then Dusty had a contraction and I thought the world was going to end.  The pain was excoriating for her and I felt my stomach muscles cramping in sympathetic reaction to her pain.  Unfortunately, Dusty's way of handling the contractions was to hold her breath.  The nurses were urgently commanding her to  "breath, Dusty, breath", because the lack of air caused the baby's heart beat to drop, they were afraid something very bad would happen to the newborn.

I couldn't handle the tension, so I made a very dumb joke when everything calmed down.  I smacked my big belly and said with as much humour as I could muster, "This thing is staying empty for awhile."  It broke the mood with everyone laughing.  Then another contraction hit.  Everyone started yelling at Dusty again.  I couldn't stand the desperation in the air, so overcoming my self-doubt, I stepped to the edge of her bed, put my hand on her arm and very calmly and in a lower tone than everyone yelling at her, asked Dusty to breath.

My words got through and Dusty listened to me.  The emergency passed and I turned to leave.  "No, Please don't go." She calls to me.  "Without my glasses you seem like an angel at the end of my bed."  How do you answer that?  The head nurse took me aside and asked if I would stay and help Dusty through the labor.  I had been the only person she would listen to. 

I knew I would have to ask the Elders, who were my leaders, if I was allowed to break curfew, hoping they would say no and I could get out of the uncomfortable spot I found myself in.  But they had witness the interaction and gave me permission to stay.  So the choice was up to me. 

I reluctantly agreed to help Dusty through the labor.  I kept my voice low and soothing trying to think of what to talk about.  I don't know why she didn't get any pain medication.  I can only guess her drug addiction history came into play, but I don't know.

Finally the baby was ready to be born.  I figured my job was done.  She didn't need me for the pushing part and I felt like I would only get in the way.  I was preparing to leave when Tammy and the nurses protested.  They asked me to stay and I figured I made never be able to experience something like this ever again.  I don't have any sisters.  So I stayed.

I was ready to hold a leg with my head down.  I certainly wasn't going to look!  But then the Doctor came in and started talking to me like I was the important person in the room.  He pointed to the head crowning and I couldn't help but peek.  I was struck by how beautiful that little head was.  I didn't feel awkward or embarrassed.  I wanted to meet that little person!  Poor Tammy. her sister got stuck at the head of the bed helping Dusty count her numbers and didn't get to see the miraculous birth. 

I was useless at this point, totally stuck by the awesomeness of the event.  The Doctor worked to get the baby out, but there was a problem.  She was coming out head first, but the baby was on her back, so Mother and child were spine to spine.  The little shoulder became wedged and she wasn't coming out.  I watch the nurse get a step stool to leverage her weight and push very hard and very fast against Dusty's belly in an effort to dislodge the baby.  Thankfully it worked.

Screams, rushing people, yelling doctors were pushed to the edges of my perception.  Everything else was gone when that little girl looked me straight in the eye.  She was still stuck in her mother, awful medical things were happening all around us, but her big brown eyes held me in place.  I remember thinking that I, me, stupid, ugly Becky is the first thing that this new life is seeing.  It filled me with a new confidence that I have never lost.

They swept her away.  It was revealed to me that Dusty had done drugs while pregnant and no one knew if the newborn, I now loved so much, would suffer the adverse effects.  A special medical crew had been called out to test her and take her away to a bigger hospital if necessary.  I waited with baited breath, fearing the worst. But despite all the worry, the baby was pronounced healthy and given to Dusty. 
She was name Michelle Angel because that was how Dusty saw me, as the angel at the foot of her bed.

I don't know the relationship of Cory and Dusty at that point.  I know he wasn't at the birth, but came the next day to the hospital when I was there.  I was a little afraid of him and didn't pursue any friendship.  I was under the impression that Dusty's family disliked him and were trying to get rid of him.

So imagine my surprise when Dusty asked if the male missionaries would come over and give Cory a lesson.

More about the little family in the next post.

 

Why I served a Mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints

Here is the honest to goodness truth why I considered a mission.

I was graduating from community college and didn't want to look for a 4 year school to go to next.  Pretty sad, huh?

That is the real mundane reason.  I never even thought of going on a Mission at any point in my childhood.  For those who don't know, it is asked for every young man between the age of 18 - 26 to dedicate two years (18 months for females) of their lives preaching the Gospel as a Representative of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  It is considered a duty of the priesthood.  I am all for it for every man.  Just the skills of being poor and on your own, but still having a built-in support system plus a common goal is worth it's weight in future life.  I would hope that every male missionary goes out into the field with at least an inkling the Church is true, but the fire of service will refine that core of a person pretty quick.  Having to live within the rules and talk to strangers about Christ and being so very, very poor helps a person figure out their priorities.  Many have left the church.  It is sad to me, but thank goodness they figured out that they didn't want to do it or they didn't agree.

Now I do not have the same attitude about Sister missionaries.  As a female you go because you have a conviction to go.  Some of the Sister missionaries were the best, most spiritual creatures that have ever walked the earth.  They believed and they prepared.  One the other hand Sister Missionaries could also be the worst, lazy and complaining.  I was struck by the dichotomy of the two types of sisters.

Where did I fit?  Depends on who was my companion.  One of my dear sisters accused of being "like an Elder"  and she was right.  I didn't prepare for a mission.  I never went to seminary(bible class) because it was in the early morning and I had marching band.  I did not go out with the missionaries to prepare and I had no idea what they did all day.  I knew about a companion, but I was shocked at the Missionary Training Center when she told me she had to be with me 24 hours a day,couldn't leave my side, ever, not even to go to the bathroom.  I thought that was a little much, but as I served I saw the wisdom in always having a witness, people like to do naughty things.  I was a strange sister to have to put up with and I knew it.

So, how did I end up out there in Montana leading all those cattle ranchers to the light.  The idea just popped into my head and instead of shoving it back out again I let it linger.  It was that religion class.  I had decided that I would be an active member of my church, I just didn't know what that meant.  I looked around me.  I didn't want to go to more school and I had no idea what job I could fit into.  I was 21 years old with no prospect of a date let alone marriage, so I decided to make a decision.  I prayed.

I did what everyone tells you to do.  I asked in the way I was always taught.  Nothing.  It was pretty disappointing not having that Angel come down and tell me what to do, but I was determined to get an answer, so I fasted, giving up a couple of meals.  I was assured that was the way to get some attention from God, but still nothing.  I thought it was time to go bigger, so I fasted again, this time no food, only water for 3 days.  I think the gesture was appreciated, but what I did wasn't necessary.  My perceived answer came when I was reading my patriarchal blessing.  That is a special blessing that each member can get in their teens.  It is viewed as an individuals own small piece of scripture.  I read mine,  It stated that there would be specific people that would be brought to me to be taught.  That did it.  I decided if I was going to be a Mormon then I better know what I was talking about.

It took over a year for me to get my call.  That is not normal.  In the mean time my resolve harden when I watched others leave.  My friend S is an example.  We meet at college and found that we had cross over on a lot of interest, but hadn't bumped into each other.  We both took Ballroom dancing and sign language.  When we met she said that she had put her mission papers in and I had just done the same thing at about the same time.  Her call was a rush.  She had to go before she had even turned 21 years old and  I was sitting waiting for my envelope, but seeing her face at her farewell meeting I remembering saying to myself that I wanted to have what she had.  I wanted the brightness, I wanted the light.  I don't know if I ever caught that special look while I was on my mission, but some have told me that I have after.

I was hoping for a sign language mission.  I knew I had to stay in the United States because of my health.  My health, that was the real thorn in the lion's paw.  The Doctors have never been good to me and I looked like a liability on my papers.  I really did not want to go foreign anyway.  That was why my application was delayed so much because of bad luck and health issues.  Salt Lake would ask for something and them I would jump through hoops to get what they wanted.  It took forever and the funny part was that it was all for naught.  The Church Headquarters try their best to get worthy capable youth, but this a volunteer job and everyone has their own motives as to why they go.  I met plenty of missionaries out there because their parents expected it.  I was free of expectations since I didn't know what I was getting myself into.

I used to run out to the mailbox looking for that white envelope, but by the time it finally came I didn't really care.  I opened it by myself, no family gathered all around waiting for the exciting news and found that I would be going to Montana.  That didn't bother me, it was the speaking English part I was upset about.  The blow was crushing.  I had really wanted to do sign language.  After all the waiting I finally got my call and I didn't want it.  The disappointment threaten everything.  My Dad said to say no.  I almost did, but I felt a strong sense of responsibility.  I had asked for this calling and it seemed wrong to say no.

Those 18 months, which turned into only about 14 (I came home for 3 months) were the most challenging, but also biggest changing point in my life.  Everything I have become revolves around those months.  Everything I am has it's start in those little beat up apartments in the middle of nowhere.  Hindsight can be twenty-twenty and as I look back I know of 2 people that I had to meet.  One person I had to influence and the second person influenced me.  If everything had worked out in the normal time frame I would not have met them. 

 

Cory was a drug addict from Denver trying to clean up his life.  He just happened to be in Worland, Wyoming (the tip was in my mission) for that small space of time having a baby with his girlfriend.  They knew they had to leave Colorado to save the baby and came to sleepy little Worland because her sister was there.  Dusty's sister was an active member of the church and we met at her home.  Skip-bo was the card game of choice.  I will post about the night I saw her baby born, but it is enough to say that I know I made a difference to that family.

The other person was Clint Collins, am Elder I met when I decided to return back to Montana after being home for 3 months.  I shouldn't have gone back.  I should have stayed home and gotten on with my life, but I went back to be a missionary and I meet the one person in my entire life that has changed my thinking.  I don't believe very many people, but I believed him and in the pattern of life we never should have met, but we did.  I will always be grateful for that tiny twist of fate.

A mission is not the right choice for everyone, but I am very glad I kept my promise and said yes to the call in the white envelope.

Trying to Write/My Dream

I have been trying to write.  I really have, but my thoughts have been very abstract lately, almost rambling.  I'm not quite sure what is happening.  I know my health has declined.  I should do something about it.  I should go to the Doctor. (All the good that will do me, I don't want another pill.)  I should finish or start the pile of quilts I have in different stages.  I should send the two that are finished and I have owed the owners of them for more than a year.  I should sew a dress to sell for Ellowyne, a popular doll, to sell on ebay.  I should take pictures to put up on ebay.  I should deal with my finances and lawyers and bankruptcy.  I should.  I should.  I should.......

but, I can't.  I really can't.

I left the house for the first time in about 6 months.  My mother has asked me to do a quilt class here in Virginia for the ladies of my church.  I said I would,  so for the past months I have had 2 pairs of ladies come over and we do one step in the process.  It helps me to have some kind of social interaction.  Two of the ladies have finished their tops and we needed to put the layers together, which meant going to a bigger space to deal with the large pieces of fabric.  When I learned how to put the layers together, it was a horrible process of pinning with hundreds of safety pins, it took hours to get one quilt ready.  As I have learned my craft, I have come up with time saving tricks.  It is funny trying to teach these ladies how to quilt because I try to explain to them what is me and what is standered for the craft.  I shrug my shoulders realizing that I am giving to much information and so I smile and try to get the project done.  Anyway, I have an adhesive spray now to put the top, batting and backing together.  It only took us a couple hours to put Two quilts together, but it requires a lot of moving.  We were hungry and went out to dinner after.  That was it.  That was all I did.

I came home and was in the worst amount of pain. I don't cry and this pain put me on the verge of tears. Think of the cramps woman have monthly and multiply it.  I could hardly believe the level of hurt I was experiencing.  It took two days to pass and I haven't been right since, so I am putting up a piece of writing that I did back in 2003.

This was a dream, one of many I have recorded.  I started writing my dreams down in 1998.  Before then someone I knew would be interested in my dreams, so I would spend time between classes telling of the extremely real, extremely weird dream I had  the night before. 

My dreams were so vivid and so filled with emotions I had never felt before that I was really, really interested in the dream world and the perceptions of it, but I was so disappointed in all of the "literature" on the subject.  They just had lists of things with possible meanings, but they never fit with what I had dreamed.  I mean dreaming that you have a tiny baby named "blueberry" is not a normal occurrence, or dreaming you are an international spy being chased by Arnold Schwarzenegger on a ski slope isn't on the list.  There was no World Wide Web back then or at lest not like it is now and I was never able to pursue or even find those interested in the science of dreams.

In 1998 I was on my mission and having some doosie of a movie going on in my head, but no one wanted to listen, so in response to their objections I began writing my dreams down.  It happened by accident.  I was in a store with my companion and I saw a dream journal for sale.  It was much too expensive, so I bought a cheap 5 dollar book, put sun and moon stickers all over it and wrote my dream down.  I continued writing when a dream really struck me.  In about 10 years I managed to fill 4 average journals with intense emotion filled dreams.

The dreams have stopped now.  Once in a while one will sneak through like a couple of months ago when I dreamed that the devil was tricking people to sign over their souls through their cell phone contracts.  That was quite the "Twilight Zone" episode in my head.

Here is just a touch of what I experience in these nocturnal movies.

I was getting ready, washing clothes, trying to take a shower, and over all of the mundane actions there was an oppressive feeling of powerlessness.  He was just in the next room. I loved him, but for my life, I could not think of any words to speak. Each time I passed the doorway I would glance at him sitting by the computer and each time I would step into the doorway ready to talk, but I would stop.  Ending up instead with a sharp intake of breathe, letting the words die in my mouth in reaction to the invisible wall I would hit.  Was it fear?  My body refused to go any closer to him.  I knew then, that I wasn’t only getting ready physically, but also emotionally.  He was leaving and tonight we were saying good-bye.

The hours passed.  He was separating from our group, from me, on the corner of a busy city.  No one stopped to glance our way as we huddled together, not wanting to start the farewell.  He was only steps away, but to me, he was already gone.  I wasn’t going to do it.  I wasn’t going to go near him.  I pulled myself, my heart back.  Trying to hide, I took a step away, but he caught my eye.  My heart, encased in its ice of protection, began to beat like it had when I first met him.  The ice broke.  I shuffled towards his form, my feet feeling heavy as lead, my numb arms wrapped around his tiny waist.  I laid my spinning head on his heaving chest, listening to the dancing beat of his heart.  Every barrier disappeared.  All the world was gone, as on the corner of a busy city, we became one.  Our bodies communicating what our feeble brains and tongues could never realize.  It was then the soft words filled my ears.  “Becky, I love you.”  Instead of happiness or relief, a deep sadness overwhelmed me.  “Do you mean that?”  ”I love you more then any person could.”  He said these words as he transfixed me with his brilliant eyes.  He loved me.  I loved him.  It didn’t matter.  Our embrace ended.  I watched as he walked away and disappeared into the crowds.

We loved each other.  He still left.   I knew he was unable to give up his other life.

 

I awoke with this dream playing over and over in the confines of my mind, the emotions as raw and as real as if I had really experienced the event.