Chapter One – Burning of the Bush

As I write this, I am thirty-three years old. So far, m life has taken me on a rollercoaster ride of ups and downs. This divorce has been ugly, and one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to go through.During the months of waiting to get through the divorce, I sat in a Relief Society lesson. While this sweet sister spoke, she recounted a story about her daughter. She explained that growing up, this daughter seemed to encounter more trials than any of her sisters. This woman had wondered at it for years. Her daughter grew up and married and soon after faced a massive trial of her faith. Her husband was in a terrible accident and she had to step up and be his caregiver, while also working and raising their children. This sister said that now she can see why her daughter was tested so much growing up; because it made her strong enough for what was to come.This struck me, as I had been tried heavily while I was in my youth as well. At the time, and for years I believed it was simply a consequence for the poor choices I had made leading up to my personal conversion. Now, I believe the purpose was to prepare me for what I would face as an adult.So, let’s travel back in time to Western Sydney, Australia in the early 2000s. I had been raised in the church and knew all the directions, doctrines, and teachings I was meant to know. My parents had always been diligent and faithful with service in the ward and stake, and regular temple attendance. Like Nephi, I had been blessed with “goodly parents.” To this day they are a wonderful example to me of faith and dedication, and their trust and love for me has carried me through the hardest of times.As a youth, I went to Young Women’s, recited the theme by heart, attended mutual and checked off all the boxes. I was doing what I needed to do, technically, but in my heart, I hadn’t been converted. I believed in the church, but it was a vague second thought to popularity and my social life.My ninth-grade year, I struggled with anemia. This meant going to early morning seminary was a huge challenge, and I simply gave up going. I also suffered from strange anxiety tremors that made my whole body shake and which I believe was linked to the anemia.That year I also continued my string of boyfriends. I loved boys. I loved crushing on them, flirting with them, teasing them, I loved everything about them. My parents weren’t fans of me having boyfriends, but they preferred I was honest about the boys than hiding the truth from them.As you would guess, I ended up getting myself into trouble and pushed my boundaries a little too far with one of the boys. Since we were so young things didn’t go “all the way” but I soon realized the mistake I’d made. Before this point, I hadn’t thought much on my faith. I lived in the motions of going to church and checking off the boxes, but when my conscience was pricked for this mistake, suddenly my personal faith was brought to question.Confused and unsure, I tried talking to this boy about my church. He feigned interest for a while until he realized I wasn’t giving anything of physical interest to him anymore. That’s when things got ugly.We went from hours on the phone chatting, to hours arguing. We went from close friends, to hiding things from each other.Then, he cheated.His excuse? I wasn’t giving him what he wanted anymore.I broke up with him. Hurt, confused, feeling betrayed, I went into our summer and Christmas break discouraged and heartbroken. I didn’t know what to do or how to recover.What I did have was a copy of the November 2001 New Era. Within it, one article stuck out to me. A girl told her story about a boyfriend who wasn’t a member of the church and how she made the difficult decision to break up with him. In the end, it proved to be for the best.After reading this article, I devoured the rest of the issue, then went in search of more issues. Over the six weeks of our summer break, I read New Era after New Era. Something in my heart changed. Something deep down came to life and whispered, “Yes, this is what I’ve been looking for!”I had never “hungered” for the gospel before. As a kid, I imagined literally eating my scriptures to stop my spirit becoming nothing more than a skeleton. But suddenly I knew what was the right and only path I needed to take. I set goals to attend seminary no matter what. I made the decision to stop dating until I was sixteen. I made up my mind and I would refuse to waver from it. I was converted.However, that kind of change doesn’t come easily.When I returned to school, my friends seemed unsettled by my changes. I didn’t know why; I was happier, so shouldn’t they be happy for me?The shockwaves didn’t hit immediately. My ex-boyfriend was among the first to begin spreading the resentment. Followed closely by my best friend. Slowly and surely, people began to spread rumors. One of the catalyst moments came when my best friend was dumped by her boyfriend. In an attempt to console her, I wrote her an email expressing my faith and sharing that I knew she would be able to get through this just like I had.The next thing I knew, she had printed it out and was sharing it with everyone to show how I had “preached” to her to try to “brainwash” her into converting. The betrayal came as a severe shock and hurt more than I knew was possible. Suddenly, everyone seemed to be after me. I was the “preacher” who had been brainwashed by her cult and now wanted to brainwash everyone else. Several girls even used my Book of Mormon I carried in my school bag from Seminary as evidence that I wanted to convert everyone to my “cult.” The label spread faster than I could get a grasp on and, before I knew it, I had been ostracized.I didn’t know what to do. I thought I had made the right choice. I had repented and was trying to live my life right. So why was this happening? Why had the people I trusted turned on me? Why did my entire grade think I was brainwashed? Why was I suddenly the freaky Mormon girl?Things escalated during our tenth-grade camp. Thursday, August 15th, 2002 changed the course of my life. I can recall that night with clarity. The bitter winter cold, the rustling of the eucalypts in the wind, the noises of my peers preparing for the night activity as I headed up to my cabin with one of my few remaining friends. Several girls emerged from the cabin and blocked my entry, their faces twisted with concern. They sat me down and explained the mean prank my former two best friends and ex-boyfriend had planned for me. A simple prank, but one that had malicious intent. They would stretch a condom, fill it with conditioner, and leave it on my pillow. Even now the sickness swells in my stomach at the memory of realizing how bad things had become. I asked to be left alone, and the girls obliged.Hiding behind the cabin, I cried like I had never cried before. How had this happened? I had turned to the Lord. I’d worked my hardest to cling to the straight and narrow path. Why did I have to suffer? Was it because I hadn’t repented sufficiently? Was this a consequence of my bad choices? I begged for a sign that I wasn’t suffering for nothing. The trees howled as I gazed around, my fifteen-year-old naivety desperate for an angel or something to appear.The wind hushed around me. As I cried, lost and alone, I felt warmth. Although I saw nothing, in the bitter cold of winter I felt my Savior with me. He ached at my heartbreak, but it took me years of remembering to realize the depth of what I experienced. My trembling body stilled, and I heard Him whisper to my heart, “I am here.” I am here.The events that followed tried and tested me. I spent months struggling to keep my head above water as I was persecuted for my conviction at every opportunity. However, that night I felt something I couldn’t deny, something that changed the fire of faith in my heart into an inferno. In my journal at the end of high school, I wrote how sad I was that my peers never accepted my faith, but I said, “True happiness comes through Christ. I can never deny that, ever.”From that moment onward, I have never shaken in my faith. The struggle left me battered and bruised, but Christ used those bruises for my good. He gave me that moment to teach me and solidify my testimony.Although the next few years of school were hard and people never seemed to want to forget that I needed to be avoided, I made it through. Some days came as more of a struggle than others, but I came out the other end.Looking back, I see many things that strengthened me. During my tenth grade, I kept my commitment to attend seminary diligently. That year we studied The Book of Mormon. That year, I read it for the first time. I more than read it, I devoured it. I plowed ahead of our weekly reading, craving more and more the deeper I went. I’d always been familiar with the stories, but suddenly they became clearer, crisper. The prophets who wrote became alive as they seemed to whisper through time to me.Reading The Book of Mormon and attending seminary fortified me throughout the year. Although I hit a deep low after camp where I literally stopped talking for days and freaked out my mother, I know that the timing for the seminary cycle came perfectly and well planned for my needs. Without the two, my tenth-grade year would have been far worse and chances are I would have buckled under the pressure.I have always kept journals, sometime diligently, others times sporadically. Having dug out my journal from this time, I found these lyrics I wrote dated February 10th, 2002.I only wish for you to see,What truly lies inside of me.I have hoped and I have prayed,For you to understand what I’m about to say…My heart soars like an eagle,With the wind surging on.Why don’t you seem to understand?Please, now come and take my handAnd we will fly… you will fly…
You gaze down at the valleys and mountains of my life,The scared cliff faces of my crimesI can’t forget.Deep within the valleys you see the tears I have shed.Then you looked to the mountain,And see the sun blazing over its head.
I receive no trials I cannot overcome,Nor does anyone else.You see my newest valley of sorrow,Scorched by the blazing fire.A fire of jealousy,All furious with might.Furious is its might.
As I soar over this valley,I can still feel it burn.Though the damage is repairing,I cannot face the one wearing… it’s flame.
And like the one you saw due south,I doubt this valley will ever come back, the same.
It’s not great as poems or lyrics go, but it’s a pretty good example of my head space during the early part of my tenth-grade year. I carried regrets from the foolish choices I made, and I wanted the people I cared about to see that I was hurt, but I was changing for the better. In Australia, especially in the Blue Mountains where I grew up, bushfires happened almost annually. The analogy of the mountains and valleys burning and recovering was something anyone from that area can relate to and understand. The bush is incredibly resilient and always came back greener and stronger after a burn. In fact, a bushfire helps many plants drop seeds and grow stronger as the flames remove dead leaves and plants and give the bush a chance to start fresh.I saw myself like the bush. I wanted to clear out the dead and overgrown and try again to grow stronger. I just didn’t realize my fire was still burning as the year declined and my heart broke.Looking back now, however, I can see how that blaze with its slow burn and the pain brought me back to life and made me stronger. Although it took me a while to find my feet again, when I did, I came back with more faith and more conviction than ever before. I had been dragged through agony, betrayal, heartbreak, loneliness, sorrow, and I came out of it with a conviction that would be unshakable. The Lord gave me that. My trial was a gift, an outstretched hand to guide me back onto the straight and narrow path. It gave me the fortitude to never waver and to never let what others say deter me from the path Christ has placed before me.He knew I would need that for what was to come.