...5 weeks later

11:20 PM

Last Wednesday things got a little crazy.

So, I had been waiting for, ha, five weeks for that mission call thing. When I first submitted my papers, I was like, I WANT TO GO TO ALL THE FOREIGN COUNTRIES. 

Three weeks later, I was all, Okay, God, maybe just send me to learn another language? Or French-speaking? Or Eastern US? New York? I'm not too picky, but I'm pretty good with other languages...

Five weeks later, I was all, dude, I don't even care just give me a call.

By the time Wednesday, May 2, came around I was mentally prepared to be sent off to Idaho. Or maybe, God willing, Antarctica. Though I wasn't guaranteed a letter that day, I approached it with a sense of unease and apprehension (and practiced my disappointed face). I woke up early and did things to distract me. I ran some miles, ate some foods, and listened to some musics before a sixth sense alerted me to the approaching footsteps of the mailman. I lurked behind my doorway like he was delivering my own death sentence, I could almost feel the pulse of the bomb he carried in his parcel.

If people were watching, they'd probably ask one of two questions: 1) Why doesn't that sexy beast run track? Because dannnnnng girl, she had to have broken some record sprinting from the door to the mailbox. 2) Does she always look like Bellatrix Lestrange? Get yoself a hairbrush, gurl.

(SO SUE ME, I HAD JUST GOTTEN OUT OF THE SHOWER).

Guys, it was only 12:00 when this happened. But this girl had to work until 8.

To maintain some level of dignity, I'll just tell you guys that I danced in my room a little bit, maybe. I also called/texted all of the fam, so that we could do this the way Mormons know best: open it all together.

So 8 hours of nothing-ness passed. And by passed, I mean sloths could have slothed a marathon faster. During the middle of the semester, the textbook department is less than frequented by the student body. I had nothing to do at work but worry more and more about what was in that envelope.

The fact that I got an envelope at all curbed my previous nightmares of rejection, though I must say I still wondered a few times if I "passed" the capable-missionary test. The letter, fat as it was, could be a detailed explanation of every reason I wasn't to serve my church. YOU NEED TO THINK OF THESE THINGS.

Assuming there was a call inside, it still could easily be Idaho. Or Tulsa.

I closed shop at work, and I slowly made my way home. It wasn't that I was scared, though I was anxious. I wasn't sure I was emotionally ready to find out where the Lord was sending me for the next 1.5 years. The only possible human being who could comfort me was, of course, Ben Gibbard. And I listened to the song "You Are a Tourist" three times.

All the right people congregated at my sister's house. Even though it was past some of the younger niblings' bedtimes, everyone was up for the moment. My Minnesotan brother was on Skype. My roommate, SarKar. My parents.

Adam, always making any party better, wrote down everyone's predictions like he was taking bets. Thailand, Madagascar, Prague, Japan, Africa, Toronto, among others. It was odd to know that any one of those bets could be my destination. I've never felt like the entire globe was at my finger tips as I did in that moment.

Turns out, one of those bets was right.

I opened the letter, and immediately my eyes jumped to my "assignment." My eyes widened, my heart skipped a beat or two, but I said nothing. Noelle was chiming in that she "wanted to talk," refusing to give up the spotlight that 3-year-olds so crave. I read aloud the words that were endorsed by the LDS prophet himself, and as my lips formed the words, "Japan, Fukuoka," my brain screamed in disbelief, while my family members audibly voiced their shock and surprise.

Of course, the letter didn't end there. I read it, but I didn't listen. All I could think was, DUDE YOU'RE TOTALLY GOING TO JAPAN.

I texted my friends, my friends called me. I Facebooked, and my Facebook blew up from excess notifications. We promptly mapped and Wikipedia'd my destination of Fukuoka. I breathed a sigh of relief that my date of departure, September 5, would not be while Sarah was in Washington. My Grandmother expressed my deepest concern so well over the phone, "Japan? But you don't speak Japan! Did they forget that you speak French?"

No, they probably didn't.

I went to bed happy, and at ease. Because I knew that I was going where the Lord wanted me to go.

Guys, I'm totally going to Japan.

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2 comments

  1. CONGRATULATIONS!! That's so cool! Japan will be amazing and you will be an amazing missionary there :)

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