I'm taking a Mission Preparation class this semester, and I know already that this will be one of my favorite classes that I've ever taken. My teacher's name is Sister Ulrich, and she is amazing. On the first day of class, she laid out her own experience as a missionary for us. From the moment she started talking, I knew I liked her. Nothing against Mormons at all, but I feel like we often make missions out to be the greatest and most wonderful things in the whole world. And honestly, they are. I know that. But we sometimes gloss over all of the hard things. Sister Ulrich told us all of the hard, painful parts of her mission. She said it was the hardest thing she had ever done, and that there were so many days that she wondered if she could make it. She said that her testimony grew ten-fold. She said that it was the most rewarding thing she had ever done. She was so honest I could hardly handle it. It was just so interesting and amazing to hear someone talk about it so openly; emotions, hardships, doubts, everything. That day, at the end of class, she had us walk around the classroom introducing ourselves as "Sister ___" or "Elder ___". It was so foreign-feeling, to say to someone "Hi, I'm Sister Scott, and I'm a missionary." I teared up the first time I said it, because all of a sudden it felt so real. I will actually be introducing myself like that to people in a few months though, so I guess I better get used to the idea now.
In class on Monday, we did our first practice missionary discussion. It was so short, but it was one of the most powerful experiences I've had to date. We were paired up, and one person taught a really short lesson on prayer, and at the end the other person was supposed to pray. I was the praying partner, so when Hannah (my partner) was done teaching, I was supposed to tell her some things that were on my mind that I thought I wanted to pray about. It was just supposed to be a practice, but both of us took it really seriously. The spirit was so strong in that room as all of these missionaries-in-training bore their testimonies and taught their "investigators" how to pray. I felt prompted to be totally honest with Hannah, so I told her about my mom, and how I was worried about her and her testimony, and about my dad, and how I can't help but worry about him and if his cancer will come back. I told her that I hadn't decided if I was going to wait to put in my papers so I could go on the trek with my stake this summer, or just get my papers done so I can go as soon as possible. It seems like a silly dilemma, but it has just been tearing at my heart for the past few weeks. It's amazing how the Lord works, though. I hate to say this, but as prominent as all of these things are in my life right now, I haven't yet taken the time to really pray about them like I did in that hot, noisy classroom, on my knees, surrounded by future missionaries who were all humbling themselves before the Lord at the same time. I haven't felt like that in such a long time. I felt that as soon as I said "amen" I knew the answer. I think I knew the answer all along, but Heavenly Father wants us to ask so that He can answer. As funny as this problem of mine is, I know that I'm supposed to put my mission papers in as soon as I can. I received my answer in that room, as soon as I just said my simple, heartfelt prayer. As I was walking back, I called my bishop, and I'm meeting with him within the next week to start my papers. It's happening. It's real.
Two things I know for sure:
1. I'm going to be a missionary.
2. God answers prayers. That's all there is to it.
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