Better late than never...

Funny story. After years of sitting in sacrament meeting, politely passing the sacrament on by and trying not to draw attention to the fact that I wasn’t taking it, I was surprisingly nervous the first couple of Sundays that I actually got to partake. More nervous than I’d realized apparently. On my second Sunday home, I was sitting on the end of the row on the folding chairs in the gym when the cute little deacon handed me a tray of bread. I took it, sveltly took a piece of bread then turned towards the people sitting to my left to pass the tray on. There was a fairly sizable gap between us, however, and we both did a “pump fake” trying to decide if we should make the move towards the center or let the little deacons on the aisles do all the work. The moment was confusing for everyone, but it felt like we’d come to a resolution and I handed my tray back to the deacon. Or so I thought. I released my grip on the completely full tray of bread at the precise moment I realized his hand had retreated back to his pockets. The plastic tray hitting the gym floor echoed 3 counties away and I felt myself go 50 shades of purple. In all those years of trying to avoid attention during the sacrament, I’d managed to announce to the whole congregation via blow horn that I was now taking it again. As I was bent over on all fours trying to help the equally mortified deacon scoop up all the bread, I kept wanting to whisper to him, “sorry bud, I’m a rookie”. I never did, and when he came back around with the water tray, he held on to it with claws of steel. Ain’t no way he was gonna let me drop the water, too. 

Anyway, tonight I did something equally scary and took myself on a little temple night, for the first time in at least 8 years. My old recommend fell out of my temple bag when I was changing and I couldn’t help but notice it was almost exactly 10 years between them. A whole decade! I was married the last time I had a recommend. I attended the Manti temple at LEAST every other week and I believe the last time I went I was even an escort for a dear friend of mine. The temple was a pretty huge part of my life then. 

June 2008 - April 2018

Fast forward ​ten years, and as nervous as I was that I’d make a fool out of myself tonight, I was as calm and relaxed as I could be. It felt like home. I knew exactly what to say, what to do, where to go, and it felt like second nature doing all of it. Even more amazing was the power of the words said in the session and the heavy reminder that if I’d actually lived up to convenants I’d been making the last time I went, I might have saved myself nearly a decade of hell, at least to some degree. 

For two hours, as I sat soaking up every bit of the session I’d missed so much, I was able to correlate tragedies along the way of my life with covenants I broke. More than ever, I understood the sorrow and unhappiness I’d created for myself with my selfish and rash decisions over the last ten years. ​

And while I’d worried it would leave me a blubbering, distraught mess, the theme that echoed in my mind more than anything else was simply,​ “welcome home”. 

Yes, I messed up. Big time. I nearly blew it FOR REALS. But sitting in the temple, surrounded by strangers mostly 20 years younger than me, I felt nothing but love and a precious reminder that this is where I belong. I didn’t worry, stress, hyperfocus on tomorrow’s problems or yesterday’s mistakes. I simply marveled at the fact that after more than 8 years (and we’re not just talking 8 years of ho-hum, I’ll get there when I have time...we’re talking 8 years of “step any closer and we will shoot” ) I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is where I belong. That this is what I’ve been fighting for. That this is why we strive to stay worthy and attend often...so that it will feel like coming home every time. 

The cute little old man that helped me into the celestial room hugged me and told me “good job” and I don’t know if he was simply referring to my awesome reiteration skills or if he was aware that it had been a MASSIVE undertaking to get me back there and I did, in fact, do a good job. That was when I lost it. Cried like a little girl who’d been lost in the mall for hours and finally been reunited with her family. “Good job Ames. You made it back. Please don’t drop anything while you’re here.”

Anyway, my hope in sharing this is that you remember it’s never too late to go home, wherever home may be. I’d bet the minute you got there, things would finally start to feel right again. You’d remember why you’d felt so at peace there in the first place. You might even get a big ole pat on the back from a 100 year old guy who was so proud of you for doing something he’s probably done every day of his life for the last 80 years. But you’ll still feel amazing, and loved, and like it’s really, really great to be back. 

I know I did.  

Better late than never, folks! Here’s to new/old beginnings.  (And may you always have ironclad grips when you need them the most.)

xoxo ~Ames