Chapter 8: Feeling a Little Scrawny

When I held my mission call in my hand for the first time, I felt the weight of it. Not merely the weight of several papers and an informational booklet, but the weight of the responsibility I was about to take on. There's an indescribable joy that fills your heart when you hear your bishop, and then your stake president, tell you that they consider you worthy to be a full-time missionary for the church. But to hold in your hand a letter from the Prophet, calling you to be a witness to all the world of the Savior Himself... it's hard to find words to describe how I felt. Joy, gratitude, wonder, awe, and above all else, humility.
This is the picture that came to my mind first. It's one of my favorite Norman Rockwell paintings (and anyone who knows me knows how much I love Norman Rockwell paintings). It encompasses my feelings about being a missionary. Especially as time goes by, I'm grateful that I have four months ahead of me before I actually leave, because I have a LOT to work on.

President Hinkley, who was the leader of the church when I was in high school, once said while speaking to a room full of missionaries, "You're not much to look at, but you're all the Lord has." He was a funny man. Funny, and oh, so right! It's been a source of consistent awe for me, to watch the Lord accomplish His purposes through the flawed and weak mortals who desire to serve Him.

In a way, I feel like Captain America before the super-steroid injections-- little and weak with a huge determination to do something great.

Especially as I struggle with the pronunciation of simple Portuguese words, I'm putting full faith in the Lord to expand my capacity to think, feel, learn, and be all that I can to serve the people of Brazil. I know I could never do it on my own, but if I do all that I can, I know that the Lord will make good use of me yet.

Chapter 7: Requires a Lot of Illistration

One of the first things I heard from many people after they heard I'd been called to serve in Brazil was: "Get started on your Visa now."
Boy, do I understand their fervent insistence now!

There was a lot going on with my family around the time I got my call: my sister Reana was going to India to meet her soon-to-be-in-laws, then she and Shawn were going to get married in the Logan, UT temple. The rest of my family was flying down for the wedding, my sister Rachel was moving from Indiana to Boise and stopping in Utah for the wedding on her way, I was moving back to Oregon after the wedding, and all of us were living in a hollaballoo world. I decided I'd start the Passport and Visa processes after I moved home, to save my mom the trouble of having to dig out my birth certificate, immunization records, and other such fiddle-faddle while she was preparing for an out-of-state wedding. I don't regret that decision. It just may have saved my sanity. And my mother's. But I do wish I had hopped on it a little more quickly when I got home.

When I did come home, a fat, juicy envelope from the Church Travel Office was waiting for me. My Visa stuff! Oh goody!

.... Oh dear....

I won't go into super-detail, just to spare you all some premature gray hairs, but here's the list of things I need to send to the Church Travel Office in order to get a Visa for Brazil:

-Signed Passport
- Notarized and Authenticated photocopy of every page of your passport
- 2 Passport-type photos
- 3 Signed Electronic Visa Application Forms
- Notarized photocopy of driver's license
- Travisa Permission Letter
- Certified Birth Certificate (order a new one because this one won't be returned)
- Notarized and Authenticated Police Clearance Letter
- 2 Notarized and Authenticated Seminary Transcripts w/ Affidavit Statement
- 2 Notarized and Authenticated Seminary Certificates w/ Affidavit Statement
- 2 Notarized and Authenticated Curriculum Vitaes
- Missionary Verify Information Sheet.


If you don't even know what half of that means, then you are just like me. Thank goodness the Church is so organized and prepared! There were very detailed instructions for each step of the process (well, except for the Missionary Verify Information Sheet. I don't know what to do about that part, but if any of you know, please enlighten me!).

So far, the wildest part for me has been all the "notarized and authenticated" stuff. Especially the seminary things. Because it's a confusing process and boring to read about (and because my jobless state has left me with a lot of hours in the day) this is where the pictures come in......

First off, I made a couple hundred phone calls (ok, maybe more like 4) to figure out how to get my seminary transcript and another graduation certificate. The location of my school moved during my high school days, so it was great fun trying to figure out which district had my seminary records. Once those were located, I dragged the Seminary President (thank you, Brother Mouer! And sorry for butchering your name....) to a notary at my local credit union and the three of us had a merry time sorting through a stack of papers, figuring out who was supposed to sign where, and what went with what. It felt great to get that all out of the way! Then I went in to a Police station to ask for a Clearance Letter (basically a good conduct report), to be signed in the presence of a notary. I'm just waiting on that one thing now.



And then, once I get that, I get to stack up all the notarized documents, and send them all off to the Secretary of State to be authenticated.
And then I wait for them to be sent back to me.

And then, once all of those documents are sent back to me, notarized and authenticated and beautiful in their completeness, I will send them off to the Church Travel Office, along with all of the other required papers, and they will take over my Visa application from there. Whew!






Of course, in a perfect world, where I am organized and plan ahead and figure out what's what before jumping into things, all those pictures might be very accurate, but really, the whole process looks a lot more like this:
In the end, the Star of the Day is that little bowl of rice and Yumm! Sauce. It all comes back to Yumm! Sauce at the end of the day. And the beginning. And the middle. I love that stuff. No matter how confusing the Brazilian Visa process gets, my Yumm! Sauce is there to make it all better. In the words of my nephew, Paul: "Num, num!"

For any of you out there who are thinking about serving missions: DO IT! Don't let the confusing and expensive Visa stop you. Apparently Brazil Visas are one of the hardest to get, and if I can do it, anyone can. Seriously. And I'll even share my Yumm! Sauce with you, if it comes to that. :)

Chapter Six: Jesus Wept

I want to take a step out of the humor zone for this post to speak of a very solemn and powerful stepping stone that brought me to the decision to serve a full-time mission. It's a subject I approach tenderly, because it is so deeply personal. But it's something I want to share.

Last Saturday, March 31, marked the one-year anniversary of a day that will live forever in my memory. It was the day I sat at the foot of my precious little sister's bed with my hand on her much-too-thin leg and watched her take her last, struggling breath. She had spent the last year of her mortal life in a battle against a rare and advanced form of pediatric ovarian cancer-- a battle that she won with flying colors even as she departed mortality, a sweeter and more angelic person than I ever could have imagined. She endured more pain than I can begin to comprehend, yet she never let it get the best of her. To the end she sought to serve others and praise the Lord for holding her hand through it all. She entered the realms of immortality a conqueror of the flesh, free from the pains and weaknesses of it.

The rest of us, her friends and family, were left behind to learn how to say goodbye.

Her name was Risa-- a name that means "laughter". She was my best friend. My childhood slave and mischief accomplice. As little kids, we fought like a cat and dog, and together endured the humiliation of punishment.

All my life it was "Railee and Risa's room" or "Railee and Risa's bed-time." If anyone was to blame for a mess of toys or obnoxious loud noises that disturbed the rest of the household (whether those noises were playful or contentious), it was "Railee and Risa!" I used to resent always being paired with the baby of the family instead of with my idolized older siblings. But as we got older, she became my very best friend. Home with Risa was always more fun than going out with friends. Driving to and from parties with her often produced more good memories than the parties themselves. And more and more with every year, I began to look up to her as a good example to me, instead of looking down on her as a "little sister". She was everything that is beautiful and virtuous in my eyes. I remember the way I would boast about her to my coworkers and boyfriends. I even told one of my friends very randomly one day, "Do you know what? My little sister is my pride and my joy. That's kind of cool, isn't it?" I never could have imagine, at that time, that I would one day lose her.

I'll forever remember the day that Risa came to pick me up from work in a 1995 white Toyota Corolla, beaming with excitement. "Where did this car come from?" I asked her as I hopped inside.

"Dad got it for really cheap and said it could be our car!"

It was no sleek sports car, but to us, it was the most beautiful piece of machinery we'd ever seen. We gushed over it the whole way home, setting up our sharing rules and planning how we'd keep it clean and how we'd personalize it and make it our own. We named it Oscar, and he was our baby.

I was driving Oscar home from a school dance with my oldest sister, Rachel, when I learned that the "dance injury" Risa had been complaining of for several months was feared to actually be cancer. I dropped my sister off at her apartment, and on my way home had to pull to the side of the road because of the tears that blurred my vision. I prayed so hard that night. I prayed that it wasn't true. I prayed that if it was true, it would go away. I prayed for strength and comfort, but mostly I prayed, Why? Why Risa? "Please, not my Risa," I remember pleading out loud. And at the same time, I remember thinking that it made so much sense. She was too perfect. Too good to be in this world. Were she a character in a book, she's exactly the character I would have known from the beginning would die a tragic and inspiring death.

As I sat in the car that night, before Risa's diagnosis was even official, that was when the Savior sat with me and filled me with a peace I can hardly describe. "It's going to be ok," I felt Him say to me. In my naivete, at the time I thought that meant that she would live, but it gave me the strength I needed to bear the next few weeks and months.

In every stage of the process that took Risa further and further from this life, it was the Savior who would give me the strength I needed to go on. It was a strength beyond myself. A strength I never doubted for a moment came from Heaven. Angels truly bore me up as I said goodbye to my beloved Risa and prepared for her funeral.

The Gospel gave me such peace. Risa died on Easter weekend, and it was so powerful to realize the full meaning of what Easter is all about. Christ's Atonement and Resurrection broke the bands of death, making it possible for all of us to do the same. Because of what He did, Risa will never truly die. Because of what He did, her broken and bruised, frail little body will be made whole and perfect and be reunited with her Spirit. I will see her again as she was, but in a glorified form. She will always be my sister, and someday we will laugh together again and embrace. The power of this realization of what Christ has made possible takes me from a place of deepest sorrow to one of indescribable joy. In a moment I could go from dreadful heartache to singing the praises of my Savior for what He has done!

In the year that has passed since that March 31, 2011, I am still learning how to say goodbye. Because of the sweet knowledge I have that death is not the end, I often feel that I have no right to be sad. When I miss Risa so much it hurts and I want to roll over and die, sometimes thinking about the blessings of the Gospel makes me feel better, but sometimes it just makes me feel guilty for crying. I tell myself that I wouldn't cry if my faith was stronger. And that is what this long, long, long post is really about. ... It's about crying.

I understand now, better than I ever did as a primary kid smartly quoting it because it was the shortest in the Bible, the scripture in John: "Jesus wept."

Two words. So simple, and yet so beautiful to me. They describe the Savior's response when Lazarus died and his friends and family were mourning. Jesus knew that He was going to raise Lazarus from the dead, but when he saw the tears of those around Him, He didn't chastise them for their lack of faith or even tell them to "calm down and watch this!" No, he didn't even preach to them. There was no patting on the back and, "You know, it's really ok. I'm going to make it better." Instead, He simply cried with them. He felt, with them, the pain of losing a loved one. Even knowing that it was only temporary, He wept. He wept and in so doing, taught them that sometimes, it really is ok to cry when it hurts. We don't have to be brave all the time. It's a whole other facet of the atonement. It's what He meant when He said that He would take all our pains upon Him. He wants us to turn to Him, not only for strength to carry on, but for a shoulder to cry on and a friend to weep with when it hurts. In His weeping with me, I have felt comfort on the most intimate level. It's a comfort that lets me know that He really, truly does know exactly how I feel, and therefore helps me to trust Him when He says, "You can do it. I will help you to do it." It's that assurance that helps me to stand up again when I feel ready and move forward.

Coming to a place where you're "over it" isn't about learning not to cry anymore. It's about learning how to cry. Crying with the Savior is completely different from crying alone. While there is still the sadness, there is no longer despair.

I've come to learn that no one can possibly understand exactly how I feel about Risa's passing. It hits everyone in a different way. Even my own family members each feel so differently about it, and we experienced it all together. But Christ has felt what I feel in exact detail, and He alone knows exactly how to heal me. He knows how to heal my family. He knows how to heal my friends. This is the beauty of the atonement, and this is what I want to share with the world. No matter what you're going through, the Savior of the world, Jesus Christ, knows YOU and He knows what YOU need. He wants you to come to Him. He wants you to let Him cry with you and hold you and, when you're ready, He wants to show you how to make it better.

I love my Savior with all that I am. I am so grateful for the healing He provides. I am so grateful for His love and His atoning sacrifice. I know that through Him, all our losses will be made up. I know that because of what He did, my family is sealed for time and all eternity, and that we will all be together in the next life. I can't wait to see His face and embrace Him, and Risa, with all my strength!

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!!!"