When Miracles Began

My heart was on fire.

A semester of studying the bible in the Holy Land, of walking where Jesus walked, and illuminating my own soul with the light of the Gospel had ignited a bright flame within.  I felt an overwhelming desire to share everything I had discovered with those who felt darkness.  "I want to be a missionary!"  The thought burned inside, filling me with joy at the prospect.  The course of my life had changed almost overnight, and my path was set.  Nothing could hold me back.  

I returned home and began the process to submit my mission application. Part of this included an extensive physical health exam.  I was nervous. My feet had been aching strangely for many weeks.  Bones and joints.  I thought of my grandmother, who suffered from problems with her feet and legs for much of her life.  I look like my grandmother.  Certainly this was the beginning of wearing her feet.  The doctor noticed bones shifting and referred me to a podiatrist- scribbling ominous notes on my exam form. 

Podiatric prognosis wasn't good.  I would need foot surgery absolutely.  If not immediately, then shortly down the road.  The aching would only increase and hamper me.  (More ominous notes.  Scribbling and jotting).  My heart sank.  This would surely set me back, and would likely influence the decisions made of where - and how- I could serve.  How could it be?!  How could I feel the way I did about serving, only to be thwarted from the very beginning?

I chose not to have the surgery yet, but to deal with the aching.  And I prayed and prayed that the doctors report would not affect my mission call. 

My call arrived, and I was assigned to serve a standard proselyting mission in Quebec, Canada.  Oh, the relief and joy!  My prayers had been answered. 

I entered the Missionary Training Center only six weeks later- I don't think I could've waited a day longer.  Full of enthusiasm, I dove into missionary training that first week only to end each day troubled by the ever-present aching in my feet.  I was heart-sick at the prospect of being held back as a missionary by physical limitations.  Inhibited in the work.  I was so very discouraged.

So I prayed.  I layed it all out to my Father in Heaven.  I pled with him to heal my feet so that I could serve in the way my heart desired.  I finished my prayer, wiped the tears from my face and climbed in to bed.

The next morning I awoke and rose to my feet with a complete absence of pain.  I went through that entire day with no aching in my joints.  And the next day.  And the next. 

And the pain never returned. 

I served a full mission, completely whole and well.  And to this day, nearly two decades later, I have not had any recurring issues with the bones in my feet. 

This was the beginning of miracles for me.