The First Time (What It was REALLY like to be a missionary that first time)

I stepped off the plane into a storm. The humidity swallowed me. Heavy, unfamiliar smells hung in clouds and I took deep breaths, my brain scrambling to place them. Garlic. Sesame. Wetness. Wetness in every form. Wet pavement. Wet hair. Wet skin.

Everything smelled wet.

I was coming from Utah. Most climates are wetter than Utah.

I was also eager. Eagerness and excitement snaked through my bones along with an overwhelming sense of tiredness. I would be tired for the next year. Bone tired.

I just didn't know it yet.

And tiredness isn't the worst thing.

The worst is being tired and trying to understand an Asian language you only had two months to learn.

From my first step off the plane nothing was as I expected it. To be honest, I didn't have a lot of expectations. I had no IDEA what life would be like, walking the streets in southern Korea, trying to talk to people about Jesus. All I knew was that I was supposed to be there. I felt it in my gut.

I was never a perfect missionary. I was always a hundred percent imperfect in fact. It had not always been my desire to serve and it certainly wasn't in my plan to pack up my bags and leave four months after getting engaged to my best friend and man of my dreams. As it was I had waited three years for his proposal. Three long years of dating that included watching every friend of ours get married and set off down the 'normal' path. All the while I KNEW in the back of my head, nothing about us would ever be 'normal.' Now, I love that about us. Then? I just wanted the 'normal' everyone else seemed to have, picket fence and all.

The proposal had been perfect. Secluded beach, sunset melting over the crashing waves, him taking me completely by surprise.

I just didn't plan on the next part of our journey. Us taking off to serve missions worlds away from where we were raised.

But when the call comes (and we all know what that internal tug feels like) you can't ignore it. At least I couldn't.

So I imperfectly surrendered my will (a bit of begrudging, foot stomping, and asking WHY now) and decided it was better to trust Him. Better to trust my heart in His hands, with His plan. And my heart was feeling something from Heavenly Father I couldn't ignore.

And now I was in Korea.

I couldn't believe I was an entire day and half ahead of my family. Living in the future, in Asia. ASIA.

After a whirlwind of introductions to the mission and missionary work I was set loose. Just like that I was with a companion (actually two) and we were trusted to wander the streets and find our way.

The first time I talked to someone about the gospel I loved  NOTHING went right. We were smashed into a train and my companion pointed out a lone, old man to me. I was nervous, but I approached.

"Hi" I muttered in Korean.

 He couldn't really understand any of my small talk in Korean, so I went right for the gold. Gospel talk.

I expected trumpets and angels to herald my message. Instead the man's face scrunched in confusion. He muttered something under his breath that I don't think was complimentary. I kept trying to talk in what I THOUGHT was Korean, but his face continued to look at me like I was an idiot.



My cheeks were red. My heart was heavy. And I wanted to bolt. I was messingthisup. I was messingthisup.

What. Had. I gotten myself into.

Eventually he turned his head and just ignored me. My body was hot with shame and my knees shook.

I bowed my head in defeat, ignoring the encouraging smile from my companion. I'm NEVER doing that again, I vowed.

Just as we stood to get off the train, the raisiny man reached out a hand. He gestured to the pamphlets I clutched. I decided to NOT try to talk in Korean and instead extended the pamphlet, with the painting of Jesus Christ on it, to his shaking hands. He grasped it, barely looking at me, his eyes riveted to the picture. His eyes drank in that picture of the savior and it was like the world around us stopped existing.

Time was up. The train stopped and we were pushed through the doors out into the streaming traffic of bodies.

I never saw the man again.

But I will never forget his face when he saw that pamphlet. And I knew then, no matter how imperfect I was...Heavenly Father was with me and would make up ALL The difference. No matter what.

All I had to do was be there and try.