A series of events that led up to my decision

Growing up, I never, ever wanted to serve a mission. I have a distinct memory of the sister missionaries coming over for dinner while we lived in Maryland when I was about 7 or 8 years old. I remember thinking, what you guys are doing doesn't look fun at all. And that idea stuck for a long time. When I was about 12, in a moment of panic, I asked my dad if every girl was supposed to serve a mission in our church. He explained very clearly* that men were expected to, although not all of them serve and that's okay. But no, he chuckled, there wasn't some sort of requirement for women to go on a mission. Good, I thought.

*He's always been good at clarifying things for me. Love you, homeslice.

When I was a wee teenager, I was dropping off friends after school and we passed a couple sister missionaries who were knocking on doors. I waved. After indignantly telling my friends not to make fun of them because I shared the same faith as them, they asked, "Well are you gonna ever be a missionary?"

I scoffed and said, "No, I don't want to knock on doors all day."

What I didn't add was I loved my beliefs, but I didn't want to share something personal with people who were going to belittle and mock me. It's terrifying enough to have this blog. Plus I wasn't even sure of my beliefs or what they were founded on.

It wasn't until I got to BYU and met some bright, fun, gorgeous girls that I finally had a dialogue on missionary service with girls my age. I also met great guys who were very knowledgeable of the scriptures, and some could speak a foreign language so fluently it made my head spin. (The ones who could speak beautiful south american Spanish were especially distracting.) What they had in common was a mission. I had this realization that these kids were normal. I was intrigued. I asked my classmates lots of questions about missionary work.

Then I met a boy who told me how much fun his mission was. He stayed in America, but it was the best two years of his life. Missions are fun, he told me. He was a stellar missionary, I could tell. I sat in on his mission prep classes while I living in Hawaii, but my circumstances were such that I thought to myself,  missions seem so rewarding, it's a shame I'll never serve. 

At the same time, Mikel was serving his own mission in Japan. My family and I had the opportunity to pick him up and see the places he lived and served in. I felt strange, in a good way, as we took a train to the small town of Takaoka, one of his favorite areas. We attended church at a small, humble branch there, and that strange, calm feeling hit me again.

I had been to so many places over the years while searching my soul about missionary work, so what's one more? I was living the good life in California during the October LDS General Conference when President Monson made the announcement that the age requirement for sister missionaries had been lowered to 19 from the previous 21. I was 20. The prompting to go on a mission hit me like a bucket of water. I cried.

After three years of not being home, I rushed back to Salem as soon as school allowed.

After a couple months of pondering, praying, and talking to every present, past, and future missionary I could find (they all said I would never regret going on a mission), I concluded that I wasn't going to serve. It would be too hard. I would make a terrible missionary. I didn't want to be away from my family for that long. My life was good. Not perfect, but good and more importantly, comfortable.

I met my dad for lunch and was debating whether or not I should tell him about my decision not to go. He had been there for the whole process. Before I could muster up the confidence to tell him, he said, just as a passing thought, "You would make an excellent missionary. And it would change you for the better." This was one of the most pivotal moments of my life, and it was at the South Salem Arby's. I had my answer.

The rest went by so quickly. I interviewed with my bishop, blasted through my mission papers, got doctor's and dentist appointments scheduled, had more interviews, and then after two long and painful weeks, my mission call finally arrived in the mail. I'm going to Singapore.

Did not see that coming.