Chapter 5: The Call

My Chi was at peace when I woke up yesterday morning. I didn't stress about whether my call would come or not, and I went to the temple with Jessi. Then I went home, had some breakfast, and ran some errands in the gorgeous, sunny weather. When I saw that the Monticello swimming pool was no longer suffocated by a black winter tarp, but full of crystalline blue water, I knew it was a sign of good things. Even if it's not open yet, seeing a full swimming pool connotes warmth and Summer joy. After that I went to town doing my Spring Cleaning around the apartment, accompanied by the recorded voices of Prophets from last October's General Conference (next Semi-annual General Conference this weekend! I can't wait to be there in person!). There's something deeply satisfying in hearing Elder Jeffery R. Holland's voice spur you to "Come join the ranks!" while you're scraping a stubborn dirty pan with an S.O.S. steel-wool pad.

Finally, at around 3:45, Jessi very innocently asked me if I wanted to check the mail. "I'll do it with you," she offered when she saw my hesitation. The day was going so well, I was afraid to tarnish it with the echo of an empty mailbox resounding in my ears. But, sucking in some big gulps of air, I excused myself from Elder Keith B. McMillin (with an assurance from him that he would be there to continue his talk on the power of the Aaronic Priesthood when I got back, should I return empty-handed) and walked, barefoot, out to the mailbox with Jessi.

I considered my bare feet to be another sign of good things because, as everyone knows, when it's warm enough for you to walk outside without shoes, then all is right with the universe.

I stood beside Jessi as she unlocked our mail cubby and then, as our eyes fell on the big, white envelope sitting atop a pile of junk mail and newspapers, I think we were both too stunned to do anything for a few milliseconds. And then, quite unexpectedly to myself, I screamed. Then I screamed again. "Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! It's here!!!" I snatched up the envelope to be sure it was real and Jessi and I jumped up and down, squealing and hugging like little girls! It was a beautiful moment.

I thought it would be torture to wait for the next three hours to open it with my family on video chat, but it was actually ok. I felt very calm about it and even though I had no idea where I was going to go, I felt very certain that I would know it was right when I opened it. I finished cleaning the kitchen and living room, ate some food, took a shower, and then tried to set up the video chat on google nice and early so I wouldn't have to waste time messing with it when my sister, Reana, called me on her break. Sadly, when it comes to technology, 20 minutes is not sufficient prep time and 40 minutes later I was still fiddling with two computers and juggling phone calls as dear friends poured into my living room to watch my pitiful display. Despite my obnoxious advertising on Facebook, I was genuinely shocked at how many people actually came to watch me. It was very touching. And embarrassing.

So, after much ado... here's the video!

It really was like watching the Brady Bunch, having my family in all these little video squares on my computer screen, talking all at once and getting frustrated when they can't hear each other or me over their own voices. Ha ha ha! You can hear them much better on that video clip than I could hear them in person. I didn't realize dad was trying to tell me they couldn't hear me as I read the letter. But Reana's break was almost over by that point anyway, so it's a good thing I just spit it out and got it over with.

It doesn't feel real yet. Coincidentally, my brother served his mission in Brazil, and I'm super excited to be able to speak Portuguese with him when I get back. And my roommate's sister has been serving a mission in the Salvador South Brazil mission, just like I will be, and I've been reading all of her blog posts for the past several weeks. It's very thrilling to think that I'll be in all those places I've been reading about! But oh, September seems sooo faaar awaaay.... Hopefully this enthusiasm I feel right now won't waste away over the next five months!

I'll try to keep busy. I still have a million immunizations to get, and then there are the visa and passport that I still have to acquire. I hear it can take up to three months just to get those, so I'm going to get those processes started right away!

Brazil. I can't believe this is really happening!!!

Chapter 4: Inner Peace

It's been two weeks since my mission papers were sent in, and I still have yet to find that big, white envelope smiling up at me from my mailbox. Over these past days, my feelings about my mission call have seen every color of the rainbow, every measurement of the Richter Scale, every letter of the alphabet, every musical pitch, every country in the world! During the process of completing my papers, I genuinely didn't even care where I would be called to serve. All I wanted was to go out and teach like the crazies. The excitement of having made the decision to go was all-consuming. Any mention of missionaries or the Gospel sent me into an excited tizzy. That was the first stage.

The next stage required a little more effort to get my endorphin fix. Pinning pictures of missionary tags on my Pintrest board was no longer enough. I wanted to imagine what my own mission would be like, but I couldn't ever get past walking through the doors of the MTC (Missionary Training Center), because what I'll be doing there depends on whether I'll be learning a foreign language or not. For a while I was able to satisfy my desire to imagine by reading other missionaries' blog posts from all over the world.

Stage three found me doing indexing and family history work to keep my mind off of imagining myself in Germany. I knew that once I started envisioning myself somewhere-- anywhere--, I'd be disappointed to be called somewhere else. In the end, I know I'll love my mission no matter where I go, and I know I'll be excited. But I live in fear that the glorious moment of opening my call will be ruined with even the briefest moment of disappointment. So it's best not to have any expectations at all.

About two hundred stages later, every day becomes more and more a struggle to achieve Mission Call Nirvana. I try closing my eyes and "ohmm"ing. I try mental flashcards of every possible area I can think of and what makes it special. I try to keep an open, clear mind. Mostly, I try not to think about it. But from every side, my chi is disturbed by the question, "So, did you get your mission call yet?" Or "Do you know where you're going yet?" Or "When do you leave?" Or "Where do you want to go?" (That one's the worst.)
"I want to go wherever the Lord sends me." No one ever wants to hear that one, but I repeat it anyway, hoping that if I say it enough, the inner peace will come and when my mission call sends me to Provo, UT or Boise, ID, I will be thrilled beyond belief! That's the goal.

I hope my call comes today, but if it doesn't, I guess that will give me more time to practice patience and achieve inner peace until I can (in the words of Master Shifu) "harness the flow of the universe."



I only wanted the first few minutes of this video, but... ya know... I don't know how to get that....

Chapter Three: Doctor Who?

I've been told that a mission is two years of awkward moments, and if that's true, then the awkwardness must begin with the first doctor appointment.

Maybe for those people who have regular doctor check-ups as they should, it's all predictable routine, but for me it was like stepping into a completely different world. A world where personal space doesn't exist, the rules of propriety no longer apply, and an entirely different language is spoken.

On my way out the door to the appointment, I remembered that I needed to bring a bunch of papers with me for the doctor to sign. Then I remembered that I'd never printed those papers off. Then I remembered that I don't have a printer. So, with only half an hour before I had to be in the doctor's office, I frantically started calling anyone and everyone I knew in the area who'd so much as spoken the word "printer". Those who awoke to answer their phones (bless them) either didn't have printers or their printers were out of ink. Finally, the lovely Megan Bingham was so sweet as to roll out of bed on a Saturday morning and help me use her printer.

When I actually got to the Intermountain Family Clinic, I started to confidently march right up to the front desk, but halted when a very large, disorientating machine caught my eye, its screen reading "Check In Here". I looked at the old man behind the desk. He didn't look up or say hello. For several moments I stood there stupidly, looking from the man to the screen, wondering what I was supposed to do. I looked around at the other people sitting in the lobby, hoping that maybe one of them would nod to confirm that I should just use the check-in machine, but no such luck. Finally, I stepped up to the machine and figured out how to check in on there. Then I swept up the dusty remains of my shattered confidence and carried them with me to a chair to await whatever came next.
What came next was a grumpy woman in scrubs who called out my name, "Riley!" from a hidden location. After a bit of searching, I found her around the corner, looking very impatient. She rolled her eyes as she turned around without another word, expecting, I suppose, that I would know to follow her. Then she stopped beside a scale and pulled out her clipboard with a sigh. When I just stood there watching her, she barked, "Well, we can't weigh you until you get on the scale!"
Like one of those bumbling cartoons who sloshes all of the water from his bucket before making it to the fire, I scrambled onto the scale with my coat on, purse and papers in hand, not knowing what else to do with them.
"You can't do it with your coat on!"
"Oh... Uh..." I saw a bed-looking thing beside the scale and hesitantly set my things on it while glancing at the woman out of the corner of my eye to make sure this was appropriate. She said nothing but proceeded to weigh me.
Finally, after measuring my height, bringing me to a room, and having me sit down with as little instruction as possible, the mean lady left for her lunch break and was replaced by a pleasanter young woman who asked me questions about myself, about where I'd like to serve my mission, and who assured me that Dr. Stephenson ((disclaimer: all names of medical personnel have been changed in this blog post for embarrassment's sake)) was a very nice man.

I'd kind of been hoping that I'd be blessed with a female doctor, but I feel I handled the disappointment very well. It's ok, I thought to myself, I can handle a male doctor. After all, he was probably an old grandpa of a man who'd done so many missionary physicals that he wouldn't even remember my face after today. And if all went well, I'd never have to see him again.

A few minutes later, an attractive young man with a charming smile walked in and shook my hand. "Hello, Railee, I'm Dr. Stephenson."

Student doctors should not ever, ever, ever, perform missionary physicals.


Mine was the delight to give Dr. Stephenson a cup of urine and a vial of blood. Then I got to sit with him and talk in great detail about every problem my body's ever had. Joy of joys! But the very best part of my visit with the Doc, was when he noticed my last name on one of the forms. "Railee Whitaker," he said thoughtfully. "Are Ryan and Rachel your siblings?"
At first I sat in stunned silence. Then my eyes searched the walls for hidden cameras. The only thing that stopped me from saying, "Ryan and Rachel who?" was the fear of being struck down for lying in the process to become a missionary. I forced a smile. "Yeah...."
"Oh, wow!" Dr. Stephenson gushed, "I went to school with them! What are they up to these days?"
How lovely.
After talking about my family for a while (who he seemed to remember all-too-well), we got back to discussing my body. Then he shined a flashlight into my ears and exclaimed, "Wow, you've got a lot of ear wax!"
How flattering.
He scraped some wax out of my ear and showed it to me, "Look at all that!"
What's the proper response when a hot guy who's chummy with your idolized older siblings digs around your ear and shows you your own ear wax? I wasn't sure, so I just forced a feeble, "Ha ha, gross...."
When he was done playing with my wax, I couldn't hear very well and his hearing test didn't work, so he brought back his assistant to drown my ears in brine for a while. While they were thus soaking, Dr. Stephenson thought it a good time to discuss some important things about my family's history with cancer and what I would need to do before leaving on my mission. Unfortunately, all I heard was, "Mawah ba hmble mumble...." It was like listening to someone talk underwater. With my head resting on a chair, I watched him make various gestures with his hands and show me papers and I, figuring I'd just ask about it later, nodded as if I were listening. I have a new respect for Mermaids.

When the visit was finally over, I went home looking like a heroin addict from all the shots I'd been given and all the attempts that had been made to draw blood from my tiny veins, but I'm pleased to say that I survived. One awkward experience down, 3 billion to go!

Chapter Two: Click, click, click

I spent an entire week in Florida back in October of 2010, staying at Make-A-Wish's Give Kids the World Village. My family and I spent all day every day that week in either Disney World or Universal Studios, going on ride after ride after ride with no wait in between (thanks to Risa's Give Kids the World badge). => In other words, I've been on an awful lot of roller-coasters. I've been on ones that dip, spin, spiral, go upside-down, go backwards, ones that blast forward so fast that you can't hear yourself scream, ones that wind and jerk around caves so dark you can't see a thing, ones that drop you, shoot you up, rattle, shake, and get stuck. But no matter what the roller-coaster does, I've found in my many dealings with them that the scariest part for me is always the beginning. It's that moment when you're all strapped in and trying to talk to the person next to you as a distraction from your nerves and then the coaster moves forward with an eerie click, click, click.... Every roller-coaster starts with that, even if it's only for a few short moments before it suddenly shoots you forward. I can handle the shooting part. I can handle the sensation that my stomach's been left behind. I love the thrill! After the first plunge it's all great fun and I can't get enough of it. But those first moments of anticipation--! It gives me goosebumps just to think of it.

Well, that's a bit what getting ready for a mission feels like. There's the excitement and anticipation, but also the nerves and the feeling that maybe I don't realize what I'm getting myself into. Mostly it's excitement right now.

Since I always wished someone would explain to me exactly what steps are taken to prepare for a mission, I'm going to describe how it's all gone for me up to this point. It started, of course, with the simple decision to go. After that I found myself standing there with a zealous grin on my face, waiting for it all to magically happen. Then I had to ask myself the question, "Now what?" My roommate, Jessi (who had also decided to serve a mission), and I decided to start preparing Spiritually by studying from the Preach My Gospel manual every morning before work and school. It was a little awkward at first, trying to figure out how to go about a companionship scripture study, but we figured something out that worked for both of us and have stuck to it ever since. We both felt like we were well on our way to becoming great missionaries!

After a Christmas break spent telling everyone, "I'm going on a mission!" and then feeling utterly silly in the face of their questions of "when?" and "where?"-- having to admit that I hadn't actually started my papers yet, I decided that the next course of action must be to talk to my Bishop about it. So my first Sunday back in Provo after Christmas, I set up an appointment to meet with the man, and eagerly walked to said appointment the very next Tuesday.

I wasn't sure how the interview would go, or if I was supposed to bring anything with me. I just went in and sat down. Then I wondered if there was anything special I was supposed to say.

Bishop Davis welcomed me into his office with his usual warm handshake and asked, "So, Railee, what are we doing today?"

Was that my que? Now was the time to say what I'd come for! Clasping my hands together in my lap and smiling like an idiot, I blurted, "We're talking about what I need to do to start my mission papers!"

One of the great things about Bishop Davis is how casually and matter-of-factly he handles things. He nodded his head with a smile and said, "Alright, let me ask you a few questions and we can get you all set up tonight."

He then proceeded to ask me a series of very straight-forward questions about my past and present standing with the Lord. Almost as soon as the questions began, they were done and before I knew it, Bishop's laptop was open in front of him and he was setting up my missionary account on LDS.org. He proceeded to ask me what my home Stake and Ward were, the name of my homeward Bishop, and if I would need any help from the church with funding for my mission. Then, right there in front of me, he called my homeward Bishop-- Bishop Daniels--, told him I was there in the office with him to start my mission papers, asked him what he thought of that, and they exchanged some information that they needed to set up my account. Badda bing, badda boom! It was done. Bishop Davis emailed me the link to log on to my missionary account and told me just to follow the instructions from there.

My step was as light as a feather as I made my way home in the ice and snow, singing hymns in my head and grinning from ear to ear like a buffoon. I couldn't help it! It felt GREAT! And when I got home, Jessi and I were so excited (she was going to meet with Bishop an hour later) that we sat down for another scripture study session, just for fun! Who'da thunk it? We were so giddy that we even started singing Primary songs together. What a cheesy pair we make. I'm sure our other roommates thought we were insane.

From there, it really was mostly a process of following instructions. I logged in to my missionary account and there were 5 forms for me to fill out. I pretty much did them all in one night. There's one about my ID, one about my education and service history, one about insurance, one very detailed personal health history form, and then a follow-up of that one to explain past and current health issues in more detail. Filling out that health form--! My goodness, it's certainly enough to make one feel like they're falling apart. Jessi and I were freaking out a little as we filled that one out because we'd heard that if we got "three strikes" on it, our applications would be set aside and looked at later. Oh NO!!!! What counted as a strike, we wondered?! Would that wart I had on my toe as a kid count as a strike? Would my seasonal allergies make me seem unfit for the rigorous schedule of a missionary?! It was quite stressful. In a funny kind of way.

After filling those out, it's down to just seeing a dentist and a doctor, having each of them fill out a short form that I print off for them, along with an envelope that is stamped and addressed to my Bishop, and let them take it from there. Then I just have to upload a picture of myself onto my account and wait for my call.

Maybe I'm more of a baby than most people are when it comes to setting up medical appointments, but that was definitely a click, click, click part of the process for me. First off, how do you know what doctors to see? I procrastinated making calls to doctors' offices like the crazies. I remember other soon-to-be-missionaries in this area recommending to me dentists/doctors they'd seen, but when the time came for me to actually do it, all of those girls had already left on their missions and I'd never written down the information they'd so kindly given me. Dash it all. Finally I chose Cougar Dental, a) because it's literally right down the street, and b) because Jessi highly recommended them. For my doctor I sent out a plea for recommendations from my facebook friends and the lot fell on Intermountain Family Health Clinic because their phone number was the easiest to find. Swallowing my fears that I would do something wrong, I plunged in to making the phone calls. The Dentist phone call went so well that it gave me the courage I needed to call the doctor. Boom! Before I knew it, I had two appointments set up for the very next week. I was so proud of myself for doing it on my own.

They always say Pride goeth before the fall, and "they" were right. After my dental appointment yesterday (I absolutely love Cougar Dental and would highly recommend them!), I learned that I'm going to need all four wisdom teeth removed, plus a cavity filling (my first-ever cavity), and that together it would cost a grand total of........... $892.00. Yes, those are dollars. That's with a discount they gave me for paying out-of-pocket because I don't have insurance. Ouch. And I haven't even gone to my doctor's appointment yet! Yikes.

This is about the time that the click, click, clicking is really echoing in my ears-- the part where I start to wonder if I had any idea what I was getting into and I realize it's too late to turn back now. I'm on the ride. It's moving forward. I know I'll be glad in the end, but right now my heart is rattling my ribs like a prisoner in a jail cell, screaming "Get me outta here!!!"

Chapter One: Decide

I read the Book of Mormon on my own for the first time when I was about eight years old. I largely credit this to my older sister, Reana, because of her example. She was always so diligent in her nightly scripture study and journal-writing that I picked up on it and, along with me, my little sister, Risa. From that young age, I remember the silence that fell just before bed time every night in my shared bedroom as Risa and I read from the blue, paper-backed copies we each possessed of the Book of Mormon.

I remember reading and re-reading that Book over and over again as I grew up. The Spirit of God, "like a fire is burning," became so much a part of my life-- a part of my very self-- that I wanted to share it with everyone. I have many embarrassing memories of sharing my testimony of the Gospel with tactless zeal to unsuspecting victims.

I was thirteen when my brother began his mission in Brazil, and from that time on, I was determined to serve a mission myself someday. It was an ambition as glorious as my ambition to become a published author. With full heart I imagined myself blazing a trail of righteousness wherever I went, converting people left and right and pouring out the love and happiness I felt to all I came in contact with!

Enter boyfriend.

My grand visions of wearing a black missionary tag were replaced with visions of white dresses and veils more quickly than I would have thought possible.

The idea of putting college and dating on hold to live the rigorous life of a full-time missionary became less and less appealing with each day.

Exit boyfriend.

... A mission didn't sound like such a bad idea after all....

Making the decision to serve a full-time mission is different for everyone. For some it is a life-long ambition, for others (like my sister), it comes as unexpectedly as a bolt of lightning. For me it's been an off-and-on thing. There have been days when I've wanted nothing more, and then there have been days when I'd rather die than commit myself to a year and a half of non-stop hard work. I've bobbed along with the tide of life, taking my merry time to make commitments of any kind. I don't like feeling trapped. It's one of my worst fears. I hate hiking simply because if I decide I'm done halfway through, I know I can't really be done because I'll have to hike back. I don't like carpooling, because I want to be able to leave when I want to leave. I don't like anything I can't pull out of with ease. I hate feeling stuck. The commitment to serve a mission, in all honesty, is one that terrifies me.

So what finally got me to commit? In a nutshell, it was a complete stranger who found me crying in (what I'd thought to be) a secluded corner of a dark parking lot one night. How embarrassing.

I'd been trying to decide what I should do with my life. The thought of a mission kept entering my mind, but I kept pushing it away.

Enter stranger.

I can't even count the amount of people who have told me I should serve a mission or said that I'd make a great missionary. I've lost track of the times people have just assumed I was going to go. But for some reason, when that particular stranger asked if I'd considered serving a mission, it was my bolt of lightening. Maybe she had magical persuasive powers, or maybe I was just so desperate for an answer to my problems, or maybe the timing was just right. Whatever the case, that night was a major turning point for me. I was ready to fly home right away and start working on my mission papers! The idea was still frightening to me, but I was unshaken in my resolve to do it. It was so thrilling to have finally made a solid choice that I didn't even care what I'd have to sacrifice to make it happen.

And thus began the saga of Sister Railee Whitaker.