I remember the drop-off like it was yesterday. Mint suit jacket. Gray pencil skirt. Practical flats. Very practical flats.
I was hanging up my heels for a year and a half and getting ready for the longest walk of my life.
I bit my cheek to keep from crying. I bit so hard I remember tasting the brassy flavor of blood. This was it, The shortest goodbye for the longest time.
I said goodbye to my parents and sister who were in the car. Camera flashes bounced across my back as I was whisked into what is called the "MTC" (Missionary Training Center).
After I lifted my shaking arm in a final wave, I didn't look back. Looking back would mean tears. And tears were something I had to save for later, when I could curl up on the bathroom floor alone and let the realness of what I was doing sink through me.
Excitement racked my bones along with a heavy dose of what-have-I-done.
I was 27 years old. I would be older than most of the girls I would be partnered with. And I had agreed to leave behind my entire support system for 1.5 years to serve the people of Korea. I was leaving behind my mom, dad, brothers and sisters. Friends.
Fiancee. (More on this later)
I swallowed and continued through the factory of checking in to my new life.
Name tag. Check.
Room assignment. Check.
Materials to learn Korean in 2 months. Uh. Check.
I was led to my room by a bouncy young woman. She had enough chatter in her for the two of us and I found myself grateful for the soft hum of her voice. I was able to tune out and try to catch my breath. Try to catch my thoughts.
The truth was, I had never. EVER. EVER planned on serving a mission. The truth was, I had resisted something I had felt tugging at me for at least four years on the pretense of having My Own Plan. And Knowing What Is Best For Me.
I don't know if you believe in God. I do. And I have felt His presence since I was about ten years old.
One thing I knew, God could see everything I couldn't. And that was enough for me.
It was enough for me to have one more step of Faith. And to turn my world upside-down, totally breaking up every puzzle piece of my life in hopes that when they landed, they would fall into something more beautiful, dynamic and strong than when they were created under my hand alone.
I followed that bouncy young woman through a circus of white shirts, black name tags and dark slacks into a small, basement classroom.
There she left me. I watched a few other people shuffle in. All dressed the same. All quiet, fidgety and nervous. We nodded our sympathetic greetings and waited.
Seventeen minutes later after the tension had thickened to a coastal fog, a small Korean girl walked into the room. She was warm and full of reassuring light. When she smiled at me I felt the whisperings of peace tickle at my skin.
And then she opened her mouth.
A language I had NEVER heard poured from her lips, easy as water. And it sounded like water too, a rush of cold, swirling water.
Was I supposed to understand this? Was I supposed to learn Korean IN Korean?
Panic clutched me and I took a deep breath.
Not knowing what to do, I opened my scriptures and glanced at the words.
FEAR not. I am with Thee.
FEAR not.
Fear. NOT.
I started to feel a calm energy. It wasn't very strong, but it was soothing.
And it was enough to take a breath and take the next step.
And now I am home. I have been home about six months, and my mind, body and spirit are still processing the experience I was able to have. I will be sharing some of this process as it filters through my mind.
Thanks for reading,
Jenn
