Exactly one month from my last post, I took a trip down to the mailboxes in the vain hope that my call would be there. My mission papers had been officially submitted the previous Monday, and after the calculations of just about everyone I talked to, I had been convinced not to expect it for at least a couple more days, possibly another week. As I grabbed the mail key I was gently reminded by Linds, "You know it's not gonna be there yet, Holl."
"I know," I grumbled, "But I have to check." I simply could not abide the idea of not checking, just in case...
She and friend Ashley were headed out for a little basking in the afternoon sun—it was a nice day—and I skipped down the stairs ahead of them, making sure not to walk too quickly to the mailboxes, trying not to hope.
I unlocked our box. There was a white envelope.
"There are always lots of white envelopes in the mail," I thought reasonably.
But it was big.
"That doesn't mean anything...necessarily."
Somehow my heart was beating at a normal pace, and I calmly pulled the envelope halfway out of the box. There was no mistaking those words printed so perfectly: "Sister Holly Anne Black." Still my eyes darted to the top left corner. "The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints."
Without any concern for the preservation of the paper I ripped it out of the box and into the air, screaming uncontrollably and waving it around as thought it was on fire. A split second later I was tackled by Lindsey, and the two of us screamed our celebration to the entire complex, jumping on the spot and laughing uncontrollably, while everyone who had been sitting around the pool in peace a moment before now stared at us as though we'd had our outburst in the library.
The next twenty minutes felt like an anxiety attack. I could not simply sit or remain still. My heart trilled and my hands trembled and my mind raced. I didn't know what to do with myself. I called Mom immediately and Lindsey helped me send a mass text to everyone we knew to announce the arrival. Though my fingers itched to tear the envelope to shreds that instant, I had already decided that I would wait until after work that night to open it, when I'd had a chance to get the word out and I could open it with as many of my friends present as possible.
The hours passed slowly, but James, my coworker, kept me entertained and my mind off my nerves. I struggled not to speed as I drove home from work, then realized as I pulled into the parking lot that a birthday party was being held at our ward building that night. Not only had I planned to attend, but most of the people I'd invited to my apartment would also be there. I would have to postpone the opening of my call a little longer.
The extra fourty-five minute wait was true torture. My eyes wandered to the clock like metal to a magnet, counting down the minutes till I could return to the apartment. I was not a very good guest. I finally left a few minutes early, unable to focus on the party, so jittery that I couldn't keep still.
When I got home, I discovered that roommate Carly had cleaned the apartment and baked treats especially for the occasion. I had such wonderful roommates. One by one, friends and ward members arrived, more tacks were pinned as people added their guesses to the world map on the wall, mission stories were exchanged, and I felt extremely loved. More people than I ever expected came, the apartment was packed. The decision to serve a mission was more difficult than I had expected, and it was wonderful to feel so supported.
With my family listening in from three different locations, I opened my call.
"You are hereby called to serve as a missionary of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. You are assigned to labor in the New Jersey Morristown mission."
Of the dozens of guesses made and my own musings, none were Morristown, New Jersey. And yet no other place in the world felt so right. My heart swelled with joy when I read the words. In my mind I almost thought, "Of course!"
I then saw that I would not enter the MTC until November 4. My excitement dropped a notch. I had not expected to wait so long. But the cheers of my friends and the call in my hands, the signature of the prophet Thomas S. Monson at the bottom and the overwhelming surrealism of the whole experience drowned out my very slight disappointment. It didn't matter how long I had to wait. I was going. I was going. Doing something I felt the Lord wanted me to do. That feeling was only confirmed as my father recalled to my memory the story of his own conversion when he was seventeen years old. It was during the short time that he lived in New Jersey, in a small town called Chatham. Chatham happens to be only a few miles from Morristown, and the first LDS missionaries he ever spoke to were...Morristown missionaries.
I cannot feel anything but grateful. Grateful to have parents who had the faith to be steadfast, who—unlike so many converts—did not fall away, who blessed me with the possibility of an eternal family and reared me in the gospel. I have never had to search for the truth. It has been there from the start. I am grateful to be given the opportunity to help others find what I have, to serve the Lord in this way—and in the very place where it all began.
"I know," I grumbled, "But I have to check." I simply could not abide the idea of not checking, just in case...
She and friend Ashley were headed out for a little basking in the afternoon sun—it was a nice day—and I skipped down the stairs ahead of them, making sure not to walk too quickly to the mailboxes, trying not to hope.
I unlocked our box. There was a white envelope.
"There are always lots of white envelopes in the mail," I thought reasonably.
But it was big.
"That doesn't mean anything...necessarily."
Somehow my heart was beating at a normal pace, and I calmly pulled the envelope halfway out of the box. There was no mistaking those words printed so perfectly: "Sister Holly Anne Black." Still my eyes darted to the top left corner. "The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints."
Without any concern for the preservation of the paper I ripped it out of the box and into the air, screaming uncontrollably and waving it around as thought it was on fire. A split second later I was tackled by Lindsey, and the two of us screamed our celebration to the entire complex, jumping on the spot and laughing uncontrollably, while everyone who had been sitting around the pool in peace a moment before now stared at us as though we'd had our outburst in the library.
The next twenty minutes felt like an anxiety attack. I could not simply sit or remain still. My heart trilled and my hands trembled and my mind raced. I didn't know what to do with myself. I called Mom immediately and Lindsey helped me send a mass text to everyone we knew to announce the arrival. Though my fingers itched to tear the envelope to shreds that instant, I had already decided that I would wait until after work that night to open it, when I'd had a chance to get the word out and I could open it with as many of my friends present as possible.
The hours passed slowly, but James, my coworker, kept me entertained and my mind off my nerves. I struggled not to speed as I drove home from work, then realized as I pulled into the parking lot that a birthday party was being held at our ward building that night. Not only had I planned to attend, but most of the people I'd invited to my apartment would also be there. I would have to postpone the opening of my call a little longer.
The extra fourty-five minute wait was true torture. My eyes wandered to the clock like metal to a magnet, counting down the minutes till I could return to the apartment. I was not a very good guest. I finally left a few minutes early, unable to focus on the party, so jittery that I couldn't keep still.
When I got home, I discovered that roommate Carly had cleaned the apartment and baked treats especially for the occasion. I had such wonderful roommates. One by one, friends and ward members arrived, more tacks were pinned as people added their guesses to the world map on the wall, mission stories were exchanged, and I felt extremely loved. More people than I ever expected came, the apartment was packed. The decision to serve a mission was more difficult than I had expected, and it was wonderful to feel so supported.
With my family listening in from three different locations, I opened my call.
"You are hereby called to serve as a missionary of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. You are assigned to labor in the New Jersey Morristown mission."
Of the dozens of guesses made and my own musings, none were Morristown, New Jersey. And yet no other place in the world felt so right. My heart swelled with joy when I read the words. In my mind I almost thought, "Of course!"
I then saw that I would not enter the MTC until November 4. My excitement dropped a notch. I had not expected to wait so long. But the cheers of my friends and the call in my hands, the signature of the prophet Thomas S. Monson at the bottom and the overwhelming surrealism of the whole experience drowned out my very slight disappointment. It didn't matter how long I had to wait. I was going. I was going. Doing something I felt the Lord wanted me to do. That feeling was only confirmed as my father recalled to my memory the story of his own conversion when he was seventeen years old. It was during the short time that he lived in New Jersey, in a small town called Chatham. Chatham happens to be only a few miles from Morristown, and the first LDS missionaries he ever spoke to were...Morristown missionaries.
I cannot feel anything but grateful. Grateful to have parents who had the faith to be steadfast, who—unlike so many converts—did not fall away, who blessed me with the possibility of an eternal family and reared me in the gospel. I have never had to search for the truth. It has been there from the start. I am grateful to be given the opportunity to help others find what I have, to serve the Lord in this way—and in the very place where it all began.
