My Life as a Fruit Fly or My Time in the Gay Group

I am not here to be political or to sway any ones mind.  I am just surprised at what I am reading on Facebook about the issue of Gay Marriage.  I want to tell my story of living with a group of Homosexuals.  I want to tell of my observations and feelings.  I want to tell of my choice on how I ultimately decided to leave them.

I was recruited into Fashion Design College.  I never planned on going.  They made me an offer I couldn't refuse.  They paid for my first 3 semesters and gave me a scholarship on top of that, so I couldn't say no.

Well, 90% of the boys in the Fashion Design Group were gay.  I didn't have a problem with that considering I had just come home from a religious mission 6 months before.  To me it was just another barrier.  I again had a terrible time making friends because most of the people in that school were straight out of High school and 19 years old.  I was 24 by this time and I had changed what I wanted out of life.  I had nothing in common with the people at school and so I had no interest in them.  I mean all they talked about was going to the bar and getting drunk.

So How did I end up being surrounded by a group of gay guys?  It happened before I blinked an eye.

There was a certain flamboyant young man in my pattern drafting class named Glen.  After watching him and bumping into each other at the sewing machines I thought I could ask him my question.

I walked up to him and flat out asked "Why do you like to sleep with men?"  I was genuinely curious.  I wondered why he wanted to be with other men.  He did not answer me, but he did think I was incredibly awesome for asking the question.  From then on I became his pet.  He started to introduce me to all of his friends and then all of his friend thought I was totally cool and began inviting me places.

I went from sitting alone in the cafeteria to being surrounded by guys.  It was quite mind-boggling to me and I loved it.  Except they would do things that I didn't agree with.  I could forgive the drug use and the drinking.  Everyone did that, but I wasn't going to imbibe with them.  It started out as little things that I did not agree with, then grew into some biggies

I went to a club with them.  That was when I found out that I was a Fruit Fly or Fag Hag.  I wasn't into that label, but that was also when I found out that I was suppose to be the go between for others to hook up with the guys in my group.  So a nice gentleman started talking to me asking about Chet.  Oh, dear Chet he was truly messed up and he admitted that to me.  Poor Chet, He was tied down and raped by an older man.  He never got over it and craved gay sex from then on.  Chet was as close to a straight man as you could get and he slept with a lot of people, almost every night.  So this man was interested in Chet and instead of talking to Chet he came to me and asked if I would pass on a message.  Being my naive self I said "sure" and passed the message on.  Then I walked between them unknowingly setting up a hook up.  When we left the club I saw Chet making out with this strange man.  I was upset because you just don't do that!  It doesn't matter if you are gay or not.  I asked if we were taking Chet home.  The other guys said no, just leave them alone.  But I argued.  You don't leave anyone alone after being in a club to have sex with a stranger.  You just don't, but they told me to get in the car because he would be alright.  I didn't protest because I saw this behaviour was part of their culture, so I went home with them.  I never liked that experience.  I never liked that thinking.

The thing is they accepted me more than anyone I have every meet in any group.  Not even my own Church members had treated me with such "love" and I would come home every weekend complaining to my one friend as to why it felt so loving, even though they were behaving in ways I did not agree with.  She was an amazing sounding board and just let me talk.

Finally they asked me to be gay.  "Come on Rebecca, come be a sister, not a cousin."  I laughed in their face, not from contempt, but because the idea was so ridiculous to me.  Six months earlier I had lived with my companions.  I knew I could not have a relationship with another woman.  I answered back,  "What are you talking about!  I can barely stand girls.  I could never date one.  I never understand the games they play." "But you could be the lipstick lesbian""Oh, so you want me dating a butch looking woman?  No thank you."  And that ended the conversation, but when I was with the group they managed to convince 3 guys and 2 girls that they were gay in a 4 month period.  You know I understand. If you are on the fringe and someone is really, really nice to you then I see how a person can fall in with whatever lifestyle.  But the point is that they were recruited and convinced that they were homosexual.  That really bothered me.  I don't like any ones choice being taken away like that, no matter what.

I want you reading this to know that almost everyone of those poor boys came knocking on my dorm room door to talk to me alone.  I had tried to get to know every one of them on a personal level.  I wanted to know their background and what they thought and believed.   And each one of those young men admitted to me that they had been molested, mostly by their father's and my heart broke for them.  They had experienced a pain that I did not know about and they wanted more than anything to be loved.  Each one of them, independent of the others, told me they did not want to be gay.  I said that they didn't have to engage in the behaviour.  I told them they had free choice and did not have to live the lifestyle if they did not want too.  But the perceived love of the group was too much for them to resist and I understood because even though I would not join completely I still understood that need for someone to love you.  I understood what it was to give up yourself for just a taste of something pure.  The problem was the more I learned about what they did, the worse I felt.

One person, a little outside of the group because of his age, had been involved in the lifestyle for years.  It was through him I learned of some horrible dirty behaviours.  He would leave school and I innocently asked, "Where is R**.""He went to an Orgy.""Um, What?""Yeah, He gets together with a bunch of guys and they have sex all weekend."  OK. I could deal with the the truth of the sex party.  It was outside my thinking and experience, but here is the kicker.  I knew that man had AIDS.  I never cared that he had AIDS, but I was informed by others that he did not like to wear a condom.  I feared for the men in his sex group.  What if there was someone trying this experience for the first time?  Plus I knew from the others in this group that he had tried to have sex with all of them with out telling them of his sickness.  And some had done other forms of sex with him. I was disgusted with this man's choice to inflict that kind of pain and suffering on others just for his own satisfaction.  That was when I saw the horrible darkness their choices held.

My friend had just had her 2nd child and thank goodness she was willing to tell me the nitty-gritty of being married and the reality of sexual relations.  She opened my eyes to the astounding work involved with trying to be committed to another person.  She spent hours talking to me and I want to thank her in this public form because she showed me the sharp contrast between her life and my life within the gay group. I badly needed that reality check.  I should thank her husband also, because he let me have her attention at a critical point.  I saw that those young men were not offering me love, but a counterfeit version of it.  They were offering me sex.  Maybe not from them, but they wanted me to do their same actions.

The homosexuals had no understanding of the power of sex to bind two people together.  Sex, to them, is for pleasure.  And unfortunately, as they got deeper into sex it had to become much more dirty and quite disgusting to have the same thrill.  I am not a prude and they felt comfortable telling stories to me.  One guy told me of his flirting while taking a shower at his gym.  They were doing motions to one another and he would demonstrate to me the actions. I was not impressed when he finished by saying that they had both masturbated in front of each other.  I was turned off by that, but he was so proud of himself, he had to tell anyone who would listen.  Thankfully I had my friends example to look at and her telling me of the power of a sexual relationship and I decided that I wanted that way of being instead.

But hasn't that thinking bled into our everyday lives.  Isn't everyone on TV and in movies sleeping with one another after just meeting each other!  I know that the drug use of the 60's and the invention of birth control has added to the promiscuous nature of our relationships, but I also know that if a girl has a homosexual friend, I can guarantee that he is telling her to sleep with the guy instead of holding off until she has formed a real connection.  And I know that he tells her when things get rocky, to drop that man and get a new one because that is what they told each other. Hook ups were rampant and relationships lasted a couple of weeks at the most.  Everyone sleeps with everyone and for once I was glad to be out in the cold.   I lived with this thinking.  They are very good at presenting a pretty picture for a short amount of time, but I saw the reality of their nature.

I moved in with one of the guys from the group called Cher.  I thought he loved me.  Not in a romantic way, but more than a friend.  I told him from the beginning that I had my hangups and that he could not have alcohol or drugs in the apartment and if he hooked up with someone to please take that somewhere else.  He couldn't do it, he was totally unable to kept the place that I lived a sanctuary.  I started to notice how our decisions clashed with one another.  I had less to do with the group.  I left him because he was stagnant.  He did not do anything to better himself.  He did not reach for anything, all he wanted was a straight man to love him and to look young and pretty.  I wanted the same thing but it didn't mean that I would stop progressing or stop making myself better.  He wanted to stay the same and I couldn't live that way.  So we split the apartment, since I went home, he had it those days and I had it when I came back.  By the time I graduated I had one friend at school left, but I loved my one friend.

I did love my boys.  They were kind and accepting towards me.  I hold them no ill-will, but it is just not correct that they be married.  If what they are offering is considered "love", then we are in big trouble as a society because I am here to tell you from personal experience that what they are offering is not "love".  I am grateful for my experience and that I was able to know those young men on on a personal level.  I felt their hurt.  I felt their desire to be truly loved and I mourned for their inability to reach for a higher state of being.  I do not agree with being mean to them or any of the hurtful things that has been done in the name of religion, but more importantly I do not condone their behaviour.  I love them.  I really do.  But I DO NOT condone their behaviour.

I am so sorry that a lot of Heterosexuals don't hold the importance of marriage close to themselves anymore.  But just because Heteros aren't respecting marriage that doesn't change the sacred nature of the institution.

I have meet many non-practicing Homosexuals.  I admire those men greatly.  They aren't hiding behind a Heterosexual marriage.  They accept that they have to change their action in order to become a better more well rounded person.  I can't help but think how much in common I have with the non-practicing gay as a spinster woman.  I wanted to get married, but instead of not being interested in the opposite sex, the opposite sex wasn't interested in me.  I have still stuck to my beliefs and standards, waiting for the day I can take the next step.  I feel that is the same for the non-practicing gay.  Some day we will get the love that we truly want, but in the mean time we are willing to wait for what we really desire.

These individuals may not have a choice in the way they feel.  To have the burden of being attracted to someone of the same sex is not a trial I wish to undertake.  But these individuals do have a choice in how they act.  And for better or worst their decisions affect the rest of us.

Clint Collins

Elder L  Sister Y and Elder Collins
The 3 of us were together in Dillon, Montana for a couple of months.

I need to start this post by saying I was not or ever have been "in love" with Clint Collins.  I have no idea what being "in love" with someone is like.  I have never had that particular feeling and I resent the fact that I couldn't just love someone for opening my eyes to the possibilities.

Have you heard of people saying, "I knew as soon as I saw him that we were going to get married."  Well, that very same thing happened to me.  Only reverse.  I knew I would never marry Collins.

I didn't even like Collins when I first met him.  He was just another stupid number crunching Elder that I had to deal with, but I am getting ahead of myself.

I went back to another winter in Montana after 3 months of freedom at home.  This time I was sent to Dillon with Sister M.  It was awful being back and I realized what a horrible mistake I had made.  I needed to go home.  The problem?  My home life was imploding.  I was allowed to call my mother, who then gave me the bad news.  My grandparents had come to visit her and now both were suffering in the hospital.  My father was out of work and the family was struggling to pay the bills and have enough for food.  They couldn't afford to take me back.

I tried with Sister M. but we didn't seem to click.  I wasn't into the work.  I refused to knock on doors ever again.  I had paid my dues already and I didn't want to struggle.  Sisters were brand new to this town and we didn't have anything established.  I was once again clueless.  And then since I wasn't fulfilling my companions emotional needs she decided she was "in love" with the other Elder in the town with us.  It wasn't her fault.  She had been brainwashed by the members of that screwed up little town.  It seems that in that area the Elders(male missionaries) would "hook up" with teenage girls all the time.  It was seen as a normal event and many encouraged it.  Well, that is breaking the biggest of rules.  You can like a person.  You can write, but you aren't allowed to act on your emotions while on your mission.  When you are done with your promised time you can do anything you want.  Unfortunately, when these emotions bloom they can become very distracting from the work.

Sister M didn't even bat her eye at Elder B before the members told her it was destiny that they two of them had been called to the same mission.  It turns out that they lived a block away from one another growing up and never met.  I had no idea what to do or say when she started conversations about her wedding colors.  I mean come on!  I was suffering so much during our companionship that I didn't know how to concentrate anymore.  Luckily for me Collins was transferred into the area, saw the situation and took matters into his own hands.  He drove an hour to the other sets of missionaries and switched comps!  Suddenly we were dealing with Collins and Elder L.  He managed to endear himself to me with that action.  I guess the President believed Collins about my problems because Sister M was also transferred out.  On the car ride to get my new comp, Sister M then told me of all the bad rumors she had heard regarding me.  It had poisoned our relationship from the very beginning.  She warned me to talk to Sister Y.  So, I did.  I laid it all out in front of her while we drove back to the apartment.  I thought things would be better now.

He had an impressive talent of making intricate paper snowflakes.  He would cut one out while talking to us.  We had them hanging around the apartment
for Christmas.

I was a mess.  I hated everything.  It was awful knowing I was the anchor between the 4 of us working in that small town.  Collins kept butting in.  I didn't want to have anything to do with him and he seem to know that and bother me
even more.  We shared a car and instead of just dropping of the keys, like everyone else he would try to get me to talk.  Slowly he gained my trust. 

Now, please don't get me wrong.  Collins has quite a list of attributes on the negative side of the column.  He hated responsibility.  He hated being in charge and he wasn't very keen on the rules, but unlike any of the males I have every dealt with before or after, Collins treated me like I existed. 

I have a very hard time with most people and I found the 19 year old missionaries a specially harsh thorn in my side.  They were so limited in their views of life.  Most had a normal, loving home-life coming from Utah and were used to getting what they wanted.  They had no idea what I had experienced before meeting them or how to deal with me.  I was broken in their eyes.  I didn't fit the mold or fit the stories that they had been told their whole lives.  I felt belittled by them.  I felt invisible.  I felt a joke in
their eyes.  And I didn't have the energy to deal with the condescension.

We gathered together on Christmas eve for a game of "Skittles" with a ward family. 
We have packed jaws of unchewed candy in our mouths.

 Collins didn't treat me like that.  He asked me my opinion.  He asked my feelings and unlike everyone else he paid attention.  The simple acknowledgement of me was what I needed at that time.  This story is an example of what a difference he made in my everyday living.

The game is really fun.  You pick two skittles.  If they are different colors you have to hold them in your mouth.  If they are the same you can chew, but only until another person gets matching pairs.  Then you have to stop.

As missionaries you work in pairs, then the missionaries in your area are called a district and the districts make up a zone with the zones making up the mission.  Each of the groups had a leader and each have a different set of meetings to organise, support, work and bond with on another.

I started the game a normal color, but that soon changed.  Its hard to see, but in the 2nd picture it looks like I got a sunburn after a couple of rounds.  Collins kept saying. "Kill me. Just kill me now,"  It was quite entertaining.

I had met the other missionaries in the District before Collins arrived.  They were just more of the same to me, nothing very special.  In fact I had done a quilt as a Christmas gift for the president and let the other missionaries in on it by having them sign it.  So they knew who I was.  Well, Collins, his comp, Sister Y and I lived an hour away from them, so we didn't have much to do with the other missionaries, but had to go up once in a while for meetings.  When we arrived I was surrounded by the other Elders and we started talking without any of the usually difficulties.  I noticed this difference right away and after a bit I blurted out the question."Um, no offense, but why are you guys talking to me this time?"  "Oh". One of the Elders answered. "Collins has been telling us how cool you are, so we wanted to find out for ourselves."  To be totally honest I had a burning flash of anger burn through me.  I thought. "How dare he.  I don't need...." but I quickly changed my tune.  Yes, I did need help.  I needed every good thing he had said about me.  The prep work he had done made all the difference in the Elders attitude towards me and I had a positive relationship with those young men.  I was so grateful.

And that was what it was like.  He paved the way for me to be successful.  He treated me with kindness and consideration.  How could you not love someone for doing that?  But what really sealed my feelings toward him was his help in changing my heart.

I continued to struggle.  My esteem was in the toilet.  We were having terrible trouble with the church members.  And I was so depressed.  I remember talking to the President and he asked if I should be on Prozac.  I shouted, "Yes! If you think it will help!"  But nothing was done.  I was having a very bad night and Sister Y asked Collins for help.  I didn't want to listen to him.  I was sure that he would give me the same BS from the same script as the other boys.  I didn't know what was wrong.  I didn't know why I was doing so badly and getting a lecture from an unknowing prissy boy wasn't going to help.  But once again Collins surprised me.  Instead of attacking me like a bull seeing red, he came into our apartment looked at the situation and said he needed to think.  I was completely taken aback when he left the three of us standing in the kitchen, with our mouths hanging open, to be alone in our extra bedroom. 

When he came back to talk to me he was blunt and to the point.  "Peck, either you don't know what your core desire is or you haven't choosing a very good one.  You need to decide what you want more then anything in the whole world.  Everything you do is to fulfill that desire, so it is a very important choice."

He was absolutely correct.  He had said just the words I needed just when I was ready to hear them.  I began doing some very strong soul searching.  What did I really want?  I wanted to be loved.  I wanted more than anything else in the world to feel loved/understood by one person, but I realized what a pitfall that thinking was.  I could get into some horrible trouble with that as my only goal.  It meant being used, debased and abused.  I didn't want that for myself.

I changed my core desire.  I decided that I wanted to feel God's love for me.  I had felt it earlier in my mission when I felt the acknowledgement by God.  I felt that he knew who I was, despite the thick concentration of humanity and that was the purest sense of joy and happiness that I had ever experienced.  I wanted that to be apart of me again.  I wanted to not only have faith, but I wanted the knowledge.  I will always love Collins for giving me that gift.  

Is there a happy ending? No, not really.  He was transferred out of Dillon and then a month later I was sent to Kalispell, Montana.  Loved that place.  I went there a completely different person.  I didn't care what people thought about me anymore.  We wrote a couple of times.  I didn't want to be accused of anything inappropriate, so I backed off.  Meanwhile, I became the top baptizer for the month.  It was quite funny.  The zone leader had made a bet with the Billings, Montana zone saying that the littlest zone could beat the biggest zone in baptisms.  I came in with only 2 weeks left in the bet.  There was a large teaching pool and I just asked anyone we met if they wanted to be baptized.  To our shock and dismay they all said yes.  It was a crazy flurry of activity, but we managed to teach and get 11 people baptized in the 2 weeks.  The Elders were very happy to crush the other zone.

I went home on a good note, since my reputation was a rocky one.  I tried to keep in touch with the 3 other missionaries from Dillon.  When Christmas came around I had a strong feeling that Collins wasn't going to get any packages.  That is the worst thing in the world for a missionary, so I organised a gift box for him.  He must have called or sent a note because I remember he thanked me.  I was correct in my feeling.  His comp was getting all kinds of packages and Collins had received nothing until my box arrived.

So I tried to keep up contact.  Then one night the phone rang and I answered it to. "Peeeeecccckkkk.  Are you sleeping?"  It was Collins telling me he was in town and he didn't want to sleep at the beach again.  I told him he could come and stay at my home.  That night Collins and his friends slept out by our pool.  I was very excited to see him.  I wanted to continue being friends.  I had a very hard time transitioning  into the real world.  I was used to people with my same moral standards.  I was completely lost at home after I had changed my thinking so dramatically and I thought of all people Collins would understand.

I was wrong.  He didn't have any interest in me.  I sat at breakfast coming up with suggestion after suggestion of what we could do that day, but he shot me down on everyone.  My heart sank.  He was treating me with the same cold indifference as everyone else.  I didn't want to accept the rejection, but when he leaned in to give me a hug good-bye I knew I would never see him again.  I knew he had made a choice.  I don't know what he based that choice on.  I believe he thought I wanted to be his girlfriend, that I wanted to marry him and I didn't.  It was never my intention.

I have wanted to get in touch with him at different points in my life.  I wanted him to know that he was the reason that I had my success, but it wasn't to be.  I found his address in some old records, but the letter came back, it always comes back.

Now there is no point.  We both have our own lives.  I wouldn't know what to say to him anyway.  The memory is too important to be spoiled by the reality.  What is funny and frustrating to me is reading through this post I notice how the words fail to give the impression of how important those short 2 months were to me.  The stories sound normal, like everyday day life. 

But I had never been treated normal.

Let me rephrase that.  I am treated the same as everyone else.  The problem is I don't responsed like the average person.  Collins seem to know that.  He responded to me in the way I needed to feel attached to the environment.  A part of me really hates him for giving me that perspective.  I crave the connections I was able to make in that town.  I felt that sense of belonging each of us is searching for.  His abandonment was a deep betrayal to me and one that I have tried very hard not to become jaded from.

I just try to hold in my heart the possibilities.  Between the depression, between the anger and other negative feelings I held in my hand the perfect moment.  It all came crashing down, but I did hold  it.  From that shinning example I have known what I wanted and I struggle to reach for it.

Going Home

The President and His wife when I said good-bye in the airport.

So I finally felt like I knew what what I was meant to do as a missionary, both how to fill my day with activity and how to study and find things out for myself.  It was during this time that I did my search on how not to fear the people around me and try to feel love for them instead.  I knew what to say to the common complaints of the average person and how to answer an investigators concerns.  I still did not know how to deal with a companion and I did not understand the impression I gave to other people. But I still have a problem with those concepts.

 

Well, my new skills were put to the test.  I was called to Billings, Montana for my next area and I was upset.  Our mission is very large, not a lot of people in that area of the US.  I served at the bottom of the mission in Worland, Wyoming and I served at the tippy-top in Kalispell, Montana.  If I had tried to drive between those two points it would have taken 9 - 10 hours.  That is the same as driving from Los Angeles up to San Fransisco,  Plus the state is nearly as wide.  The President of the Mission could not patrol that expanse of land all the time, so the problem missionaries or the sick missionaries were sent to Billing so he could keep an eye on them.  I wondered what he had heard about me and I was not excited to be going there. I was even more upset to lose my friend and teacher, Sister G.

Transfers came and it turned out to be a mixed blessing.  My companion was sick and depressed.  She had been on her mission for 9 months and had been unable to leave Billings and the Presidents side.  I looked at our companionship and knew that I would have to be the one to take the reigns, if I wanted to continue my good momentum.

The President did not know what to do with me.  I didn't feel persecuted, but I felt like he looked at my name and had no idea what I wanted or what was best.  I wasn't comfortable with him, which meant that he passed me over.  I don't hold any resentment towards him.  I understand that there are people you click with and others you don't.  He was a good man who tried.  I had a better interaction with his wife.

I could not stand the lazing about of my  new comp.  It was killing me after what I learned with Sister G.  Sister S refused to leave the apartment, so I started to slowly figure out what I could do.  I read & studied the Pearl of Great Price, a piece of scripture I had ignored before.  I organized the church video's and the large collection of Church Magazines.  And then I found some paperwork I had never seen before.  Billings is one of the biggest cities in Montana and they were big enough to receive Media Referrals.  Oh, those were the best!  They were from people who had requested an item from the church commercials, either a video, Bible or Book of Mormon.  I don't know if they still have them.

That binder full of forgotten request kept me sane.  I despise talking on the phone.  I just don't like the pauses in conversations.  I can't tell what a person is thinking in that space of silence and I panic.  I also have an irrational belief that a person will hear it is me or my name and hang up.  I refuse to answer the phone now.  Back to topic, I would cold call people asking if they still wanted the item.  I had some crazy conversation, but it filled my time.  I set up appointments and if Sister S didn't want to go I would arrange for her to stay with a female member of the church and I would go with a female member of the church, in what is known as "splits".

I worked and the people I cared about noticed.  Sister S went out with me more and she began to gain some confidence.  She did so well she ended up leaving me, being transferred for the first time, the President believing she was ready.

Meanwhile, I was being sent home.  It was my fault.  In Billing there were good Dr's.  I happened to mention to the couple in charge of the health care that my feet were killing me.  In Worland, we had knocked on doors 5 times a day, which meant hours of walking.  We didn't want to but, we couldn't find anything else to do.  I knew that town better than the locals.  I hated knocking on doors just as much as the people disliked finding me standing on the other side.  It is the worst, most uncomfortable thing to do and we had a 0 percent success rate, but it proves you were willing to sacrifice.  My feet hurt so bad I was wearing my muck-lucks (snow shoes) in the middle of summer because they had more support in them.  Now in Billings, I could see if I could get some help for the pain.

What it looked like from the window of the plane.  First in barren Montana and then in the highly populated City of Los Angeles.  The Transition nearly killed me.

Yeah, they helped all right.  The x-ray came back to show 2 large heel spurs poking out of the bones in my heel. I was told I would have to have surgery and then spend six months in a cast for each foot.  Well, there was no way I was going to do that out on a mission and I said that to my Mission President and he agreed.  I had my new companion after Sister S, for 10 days when I found myself on a plane heading home to California.

That was a special kind of heartlessness.  But What could they have done?  Nothing.  The choice was to stay or go home and I said I would rather go home than stay in the mission field disabled.  I felt thrown into the jungle sitting in the Los Angeles airport waiting for my parents to pick me up. 

The horrible noise!  The awful smells!  I knew I would be faced with this again, but not so soon.  You are granted an insulation for the short time of your mission.  A bubble, where your goals and concerns don't match the rest of the world.  All I can compare it to is being a nun in a convent or entering the military.  You are surrounded by others who share your same thinking.  It isn't forever.  And for many the bubble bursts.  I wasn't ready for my protection to be gone.  I had finally clawed my way to some kind of respect and now I was at home.  The worst it turned out to be for nothing.

Now at home I did not have any kind of Health care because I was too old to be on my parents insurance, so we had to try and find someone we could afford.  I couldn't afford a surgery, but we found out I could survive with orthopedics.  I had to wait for them to be made, so I got to fool around at home.  But to be honest I think it was just resting my feet for a time that made it bearable to walk again.

I could have been a lot worst then I was.  I wasn't suppose to break the rules since I was technically still a missionary, but I didn't wear the tag at home and that for me was the real indication of what I could do.  I am a straight arrow anyway.  The worst I did was laze about watching TV all day.  I did get to be in the house alone for a week, since my parents had to go to Utah to take care of my grandparents home.  It also was pretty bad that I went to a club, The Whiskey a go-go, on Sunset Boulevard in Downtown LA, but my brother's band was playing and I thought I should support them in such a cool gig. 

I did do some good things during this time.  I was put in charge of getting quilts done to give away to the Church Welfare program.  Most people get two pieces of fabric some batting and tie them together with some yarn.  I am a snob when it comes to quilts and I decided to set up one-on-one classes to make fully pieced quilts.  I used fabrics from our stash and said I would teach a person how to make a pieced quilt top in 4 hours, if they gave them away.  One of my childhood friends took me up on the offer and it was how we reconnected after a number of years.  Side note:  I was told that my quilts would go to a local welfare center and the little ladies in charge of picking up goods for their people would fight over them because they were so well done compared to the rest.  I thought that was rather funny and quite heartwarming, since those were the sweetest women you would ever meet.

So I had started a life at home and when the boys from my mission would call I would push them off.  I told the truth, just a little exaggerated about the time frame.  I didn't want to go back, but I also didn't want to say that out loud.  I still felt the pressure of my promise.  I still felt the the stigma that came with leaving my mission early.  I wanted to be finished and stay home for no good reason at all.

Finally a phone call came that I did not answer first.  My father bursts into my room yelling with happiness, "They just called. You're going back!"  I burst into tears.

It was time to make my choice.  Would I go back to finish my remaining months in Montana? Or Would I say No and continue my life at home?

I felt I had to ask God, but I did it on my terms this time.  While at a Sister's conference on my mission the leaders made a claim that any question a person had in their life could be answered with The Book of Mormon.  Now I did not believe this statement.  The leaders had us ask a question and then randomly open the book and point to a piece of scripture.  They were right in the fact that you can make any scripture sound good by taking it out of context.  I heard people reaching to make the scripture they picked fit.

So I was pretty sure if I asked God with this method it would fail and I could stay home with out the guilt.  I even got a new, unused Book of Mormon, so it wouldn't fall open in a certain spot because of the binding.  I set the book in front of me and I prayed with the utmost sincerity.  That is the key.  You have to really mean what you say and you have to be willing to follow through even if the answer is not what you want.  I asked if I should be a missionary again and then let the book fall open.

I started reading.  I wish I wrote the exact verses, but my eyes hit "Feed my sheep."  I thought, "No, that was a mistake.  There is no way that really just happened."  So I turned the page and again my eye caught "Feed my sheep."  My mind started to babble.  I didn't want to go back to the injustices.  I didn't want to go back to the persecution or the struggles.  But my eye caught that sentence again. "Feed my sheep."  I knew I couldn't say no.  I never thought something so concrete would happen to me.  Everything before had been feelings and thoughts, but reading that line was as real as hearing a voice.  I had asked and I had received an answer and I had to follow through.  I shouldn't have gone back according to the statistics.  No one at the mission thought I would return, but I tend to be in that small percent that does the unexpected.

After three months of a lazy kind of freedom I found myself once again on a plane to Billings.  And once again I was stuck right smack into a disasters.

Cory, Dusty & Little Angel Part II

Here is the Photo fixed ny my Friend

Me holding my Angel in her blessing dress. 
 I was very sad to find this picture
had stuck to another causing the damage.

So I had this extreme experience with people I really didn't know.  I loved that little baby and I wanted to hold her and love her and take care of her, but I couldn't.  I didn't have any power.  I wasn't a relative or a best friend.  I didn't even know how long I would live in that town.  I was able to see that baby while Dusty lived with her sister, Tammy.  I came to love the feel of a curled up baby sleeping on my chest.  I loved the weight of her tiny body and the warmth of her soft cheek against my skin.  This was the first time I had experienced such feelings.

Unfortunately, a terrible set of events happened while I was partnered with Sister H, that was how she got fodder for the rumors that came to bite me on the butt later in my mission.  I fought to decide if I really wanted to be a follower of Jesus Christ.  I was confronted with a choice and I had to decide what I wanted.  I had a strange idea that the way people treated me was the same as what God thought of me.  I couldn't lie to the people on my mission and say that God loved them when I didn't feel for myself.  I was searching.  I did find what I was looking for and I started the next hill in my journey.  It was then that I decided that I would reach for a higher purpose.  I decided to follow Christ.

I kind of lost track of Dusty and Angel.  I 'm not sure how I found them again, but I remember that they had move to an apartment close to us.  Dusty and Cory had moved in together, so to see the baby I had to deal with him.  He kind of scared me with all the bad things I had heard as gossip, but I wanted to see the baby.  I had sister G. at this time and I don't know if she comprehended the connection I felt. 

It's funny to me because we ended up teaching Cory.  It just happened.  I really like Cory.  He was very intelligent.  He was very interested in religion and had spent time touring Europe studying different text.  He told us he spent time at the Vatican doing  research.  His favorite past time was to invite different missionaries or priests to his home and slam them with the illogical facts that they presented.  He loved to argue and he knew just the right buttons to push to get the religious representative really, really mad.  I remembered the horrible argument the Elders had with him and knew he was good at his purpose.

I didn't take the bait.  I remember one specific conversation with Cory.  He said, "I heard that Joseph Smith is a drunk and liar."  I knew what story he was misquoting about Joseph Smith, who was the first modern day prophet for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  My first thought was to  defend such an ignorant statement, but then a different way popped into my head.
                                "Well, I know that has been said about Joseph Smith, but would you like to read his words about his life." 
                                 "What are you talking about?"
                                  "I have his written History in my set of scriptures.  You can read it and judge for yourself."

And he did.  He read everything we gave him.  Instead of formal lessons we talked.  We had conversation and we would address his concerns.  It was the only time I felt needed as a missionary.  I felt like I was in the right place and at the right time.  I felt that they need my specific personality to learn and grow from.  I wasn't pushing them. I wasn't trying to convince them.  I just knew the next step.

Cory did everything we asked.  He stopped all drugs.  He study the scriptures and he changed.  I saw a light come into him.  It was actually harder for Dusty.  She was so jaded by the members of the church.  I remember setting in the kitchen with the baby while she made dinner.  Dusty express her disgust at the members who pretended to be good,  She couldn't stand knowing that these people were sleeping around and then allowed to enter into our sacred places.  I agreed totally, that was one of my problems with the church also.  I hate the hypocrisy.  It was an eye opener for me when I said, "They lied, Dusty.  The church leaders aren't going to check through your whole life.  It hurts when other abuse what you find important, but it doesn't discount the truth."

Cory was baptized into the Church.  Dusty and Cory were married with me and little Angel by their side.  I didn't know if this would last.  I didn't know if it would all fall apart because of the call of the drugs.  I did not know what the future held for them,but I was so grateful to be apart of their lives.  I felt responsible for them and I hoped that the other members of the church would take care of them, but I also knew that their was nothing more I could do.

I was transferred to Billings Montana.  Infact the Sister missionaries were withdrawn from that area and the apartment closed down.  I wrote to Dusty every week.  She wrote back for a while and then the letters stopped.  Then my letter were returned.

I started having my own problems popping up.  I ended up leaving from Billing to recover my feet at home for 3 months.  I thought I could get in contact with Dusty through her sister, Tammy, but then Tammy and family moved away.  The area was eventually reopened.  I asked a sister who had served there if they had met Dusty or Cory at church and the answer was no.  I lost them.

That baby will be 15 years old this year.  I don't know if I want to see or meet her.  She is so important to me as that little baby.  I don't want to bear the sorrow of hearing that everything went wrong.  It was so wonderful for that short time.  I want to always kept that memory alive in myself.