called to serve (or the story of why I chose to serve a mission)

About a month and a half ago, I experienced what I would call my mid-college crisis. I'd say midlife crisis, but I'm hoping that my 20s aren't the middle of my life, so the term doesn't really apply. I started to feel like I didn't know what I was doing with my life. I felt like I had no direction, no purpose. It seemed like suddenly everything I was doing didn't feel right.

In a desperate plea, I turned to my Heavenly Father. Earlier in my life, when I was trying to decide which college to attend, I made a promise to God that I would go wherever He wanted me to go and do whatever He wanted me to do. In this low moment, I reaffirmed this commitment. I wanted so badly to get out of the funk that I was stuck in and I knew that He would have the answers for me.

It was time for me to visit my bishop to renew my temple recommend. In the interview, he asked me how things were going. I mentioned that I'd been struggling with this feeling of being stuck. He wisely advised me to listen during conference in the upcoming weekend. 

I kept praying, asking my Father in Heaven to tell me anything at all about what He wanted me to be doing. I just wanted to feel like I was going down the right path, like I was doing the right things.

My friends and I got together to watch conference at my apartment. We were all sitting on the couch, reminiscing about things that had happened the last time that we watched conference. We were eating pancakes with whipped cream, talking and laughing so much that we almost missed the announcement. But the second that I heard President Monson announce that sisters would be able to serve missions at age 19, it was like a glimmering beam straight from Heaven to my heart. I knew, without any doubt, that this was my answer. 

I started jumping and screaming and crying at the same time. I couldn't even sit still, I was so excited. I think I missed everything else that happened during the first session. My phone wouldn't stop buzzing as everyone I knew started texting me, telling me that I was the first person they thought of when they heard the announcement. 

I skyped my parents between sessions and we discussed the idea. With their support,  I began work on my mission papers. I felt strongly that I needed to leave as soon as possible, so I listed my availability date as January 1st. Things fell together nicely from there. 

 Alma 26:36 says "for this is my life, my joy and my salvation," and that's how I feel about the gospel. This is my whole entire life. My testimony of the Church influences every decision I make. It brings me true joy and happiness and I cannot wait to share that joy and happiness with others while I serve as a missionary. 1 Timothy 1:7-8 says "For God hath not given us the spirit of fear, but of power, and love, and of a sound mind. Be thou therefore not ashamed of the testimony of the Lord." I believe this with all my heart. I know that I have no need to be afraid. God will support me as I strive to do the things that He wants me to do. 

I know that this is what God wants me to do. I am beyond thrilled that I have been called to serve as a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the Virginia Richmond Mission. I report to the Provo Missionary Training Center on January 16th, a mere 37 days away!

That's all.

when it rains

Oh, how I love the rain! As I was walking between the library and the office today on campus, the wind started blowing and rain started pouring, and I began to reflect on how much I love rainstorms.

My Utah friends won't understand, really, because they've never experienced Texas rainstorms. But my Southern friends know what I mean. Rainstorms are beautiful and kind of miraculous. The idea that water can magically convert to clouds and then again become water as it falls from the sky is so fascinating. Here I was, walking across campus, looking up at the sky in wonder and awe, recalling my true thoughts about rain.

About two months ago, I was having the absolute worst of days. I had never felt so homesick and I just wanted to catch the next plane to Texas and get away from my life. Deep down I realized that running away from my problems was not the way to make things better, but I wanted to pretend that everything was better in Texas and that leaving would make me happier. 

As I walked to campus that day, I thought about all the things I loved about Texas, and after making a rather lengthy list I realized I missed real rainstorms. In a desperate prayer, I remember looking up at the sky, wishing it would rain. 

And then it began to rain. I started to cry a little bit, so grateful that my Father in Heaven had heard my plea and recognized how much a rainstorm would mean to me. I got to class late, soaking wet, and grinning from ear to ear. My peers around me complained about how inconvenient the storm had been, ruining their hair, making them late, destroying their projects. But it didn't matter, because all I could think about was that the rain meant that God loved me.

Since that afternoon, I've come to love the rain even more. Provo is in the desert, so it doesn't rain that often, but the few times it has sprinkled even a little bit, I just smile and keep it as my own personal reminder that God hasn't forgotten me.

And oh, how I love the rain! 

That's all.

all grown up

When I turned 18, I thought I was so grown up. Becoming a legal adult seemed like the answer to everything. I don't know why I thought this way, but I did. It felt like I was on top of the world. All my big decisions were pretty much made - I knew where I was going to school, I had enough money to get me through the first semester.

Turns out I was wrong. There was so much more to growing up then leaving the home of my parents. I had far more decisions to make then merely to step on that plane. I had to figure out how to make myself get up in the morning. I had to learn how to plan meals and eat the right number of vegetables. I had to learn how to get to class on time and how to go to bed at a reasonable hour. 

So I did it; I learned how to do all those things. I went through an entire semester of life on my own, and successfully discovered how to live independently. I thought this made me an adult.

But I was still wrong. And so here I am, learning how to do even more grown-up things. I paid for my first apartment after spending many hours and days searching, and researching and looking for the right one. I applied for my major after much pondering and worrying over whether I was making the right choice. I started looking for my first real job, not out of convenience or obligation, but out of necessity - if I don't make money, then I won't be able to pay for my rent.

And so, now, once again, I feel like I'm all grown up. But it's different this time. Because I don't feel so independent and adult-like that I think I'm ready to face the world and take on everything that comes my way. Rather, I understand that I'm taking steps toward the rest of my life. And it never stops changing and I never stop learning. Growing up isn't an event, it's a process. 

So here goes nothing.

That's all.