Excerpt from her last letter, and she wishes everyone a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
1. Manhattan Temple! We went the Saturday before Christmas. It was awesome to get out of New Jersey, even though it doesn't really look any different in NY. The city is just as bustling and crazy as I remember it, and it was COLD. The buildings create insane wind currents. But it's just as everyone says. The instant you're inside the Temple------silence. We walked in and out a couple times to hear the effect. Yes. We're dweebs. It's a beautiful temple. Definitely near the top of my list.
2. Jonathan. One of our investigators, and one of the most unique people I've ever met. He works with computers as some sort of analyst...I don't understand what he's saying when he describes what he does. But he studied philosophy in college because he finds it interesting, and he definitely looks at everything from a philosophical standpoint. He is a challenge to teach, but more fun to teach than anyone else. He takes notes on our lessons, reads all the assignments we give him and more, and always has a list of questions waiting for us at our next appointment. Once we quoted a scripture from the Book of Mormon and he said, "Isn't that in 2 Nephi 2?"..............jaw drop.
I thought at first that he would never really internalize anything we were teaching him because he questions everything so much, and he looks at everything very factually. But as we have taught him I have come to realize that no one can read the Book of Mormon as much as he does, no one can study it the way he does, and not change, not come to know that it's true. When we began teaching him he would not pray, and now he frequently volunteers to, and the last time he prayed he was so sincere, and he closed in the name of Jesus Christ (he had not done that before). He is definitely progressing, but Sister Picard and I have had to really think outside the box when preparing lesson plans for him. We really took a gamble last time and gave him a PDF copy of Preach My Gospel on a disc, so that he can see where we're going with the lessons and understand why we teach him the way we do. Who knows, when we meet next he might instruct us on how to teach better!
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Notes from the field...
Holly and her MTC companion, Sister White.
(The following are exerpts from Holly's last two letters, dated 12/14/2009 and 12/21/2009)
Sis. Picard and I won the obedience basket!!! We had a mission-wide conference on Wednesday, and all month Sis. Picard has been preparing me for the obedience basket. Every mission conference Sis. Bahr has all the missionaries stand up, and she begins to name different mission rules. If she names one you haven't kept, you have to sit down. Some of the rules she named were making your bed in the morning, brushing/flossing you teeth, taking you vitamins, staying under your allotted miles in the car, exercising every day, etc. Well, Sis. Picard and I were the last ones standing, and we won a HUGE stash of food! We probably won't have to shop until transfers! Our favorite item is the nutella. :)
At the mission home with all the sister missionaries.
Saturday President and Sister Bahr had all the sisters over for a special Christmas brunch. I thought I was going to explode, they made us eat so much. It was lots of fun. We decorated their Christmas tree with homemade ornaments. Sis. Picard and I made a sleigh. Little miniatures of ourselves rode in the front, and behind us was a big bag full of Books of Mormon instead of presents. It was fun and super cheesy. :)
Holly and her trainer, Sister Picard.
There are times when Sister Picard and I are tracting and we can't talk when people open their doors because our faces are numb. We will tract until we simply can't bear it anymore, then we will go to the car and thaw for a little while, then head back out. There's a thermometer in our car, and we can't believe it when it says it's 22 degrees outside. It feels much colder than that. They it's because of the humidity. The cold goes right through our clothes and our shoes. It's not easy, but somehow we get through it and manage to stay happy, too. It's a great motivation to work really hard for appointments so we can spend as little time knocking as possible! And it makes us really grateful to have a car. There are some missionaries in walking areas, and I can't imagine how they spend all day outside! We also have gotten really creative with our clothes. I usually wear a sweater over my tops, a fleece vest, my coat, a scarf, nylons, leggings, my wool socks, another pair of leggings, my boots, and two skirts. I'm getting ready to break out the sweatpants pretty soon--the natives say it doesn't get REALLY cold until January. :)
The work is going well. It's difficult with the holiday season to get a hold of people and keep reliable appointments, but we feel very blessed. I am amazed at how much I love all these people I hardly know. Yesterday Sis. Picard and I were asked by the Relief Society president to visit a less-active sister. She came here four years ago as a refugee from Sierra Leon. She has been a member since she was fourteen and served a mission in Ghana. Here mission lasted more than two years because the war was so bad in Sierra Leon that she couldn't return home! When she finally did, the war had not ended, and both her mother and brother were shot and killed before her eyes. Shortly after that she came to the US. She knew no English, but the Church helped her find housing and put her through school. She now works as a nurse to support herself and her little boy. Her husband works in Europe and can only visit once a year. She is lonely and worn out, but in just another year she will be a citizen and her husband will be able to come to America. I was so overwhelmed by her faith! She is so determined to stand on her own two feet, and is proud to no longer be living by the welfare of the Church. Although she cannot come to church very often, she is a wonderful member missionary and shares the gospel with everyone.
As Sis. Picard and I sat and listened to her amazing story, I was filled with love for this wonderful woman, though I had only just met her, and I was overwhelmed with a desire to help her in any way that I could. Sis. Picard and I will be making regular visits and will begin teaching two of her friends soon. It's amazing the way that being a missionary makes you love people! It's a wonderful feeling.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
First Letter from New Jersey
Holly arrived in New Jersey Tuesday, November 24 and got right to work!
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Entering the MTC
Holly entered the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah on November 4th. The MTC has this super-orderly process for greeting the new missionaries. You are given an arrival time- 12:45 p.m. for Sister Black-and you are directed by missionaries and MTC workers in neon- yellow safety vests to an unloading zone along the curb. They want to keep the parking area as uncongested as possible, so they issue one auto pass per missionary.
The day before drop-off day we arrived in Salt Lake, went to Hires for some awesome burgers, then went to the Salt Lake City temple to do an endowment session. We ran into good friend, Quinn Howard, as we were leaving the temple. That was a really special treat. Quinn and Sandy have known Holly since she was little and Sandy taught Holly piano.
We got up early the next morning and hiked to the top of the "Y". It was a beautiful morning. Perfect for a hike. Rob went into Boy Scout mode and marched up the mountain leaving Holly and Tori in the dust. We just kept telling ourselves it was hard because of the altitude. But we kept passing old geezers coming down the mountain so we couldn't give up. If they could do it, so could we!
After our hike we had time for lunch in the Cougareat at BYU and then it was time to drop Holly off at the MTC. Two missionaries greeted us at the curb. Working hard not to cry, we gave Holly one last hug. The elders hoisted her HUGE duffle bag and suitcases and escorted her into a new chapter in her life....
Monday, October 19, 2009
Called to Serve
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.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Where in the World...
Am I going? I haven't the foggiest. I'm taking guesses.
Rules:
1. 2 guesses per person—one in the US, one foreign.
2. Person with the closest guess gets a prize! I haven't decided what the prize is yet...but it won't be lame. I promise. I hate it when you've won a prize and you're all excited, wondering what it will be...and it's a hat. Or a weird poster. Or something.
Here is the link where you can find a list of the 345 possibilities: http://www.mission.net/cgi-bin/mission_index.cgi?action=show_current
Here are all the guesses so far. Be careful not to choose the same mission as someone else:
Alaska Anchorage
Australia Adelaide
Australia Melbourne
Austria Vienna
Brazil Rio de Janeiro
California San Bernadino
Canada Calgary
Cape Verde Praia
Chile Santiago North
China Hong Kong
Costa Rica San Jose
Denmark Copenhagen
France Paris
Georgia Atlanta
Germany Frankfurt
Germany Hamburg
Hawaii Honolulu
Idaho Boise
Illinois Nauvoo
Iowa Des Moines
Italy Catania
Japan Nagoya
New Hampshire Manchester
New York New York North
New York New York South
New York Rochester
New Zealand Aukland
Nigeria Enugu
Oklahoma Oklahoma City
Oregon Portland
Pennsylvania Harrisburg
Pennsylvania Pittsburgh
Philippines Cebu
Philippines Manila
Poland Warsaw
Russia Yekaterinburg
South Africa Durban
Spain Madrid
Utah Salt Lake City Temple Square
Washington Seattle
Washington Tacoma
Wisconsin Milwaukee
Zimbabwe Harare
I'm looking forward to tacking your guesses on my magnificent world map, which is currently hanging in my living room. As you can see from the list above, it's getting pretty crowded already. I shall have to take a picture when it's finished and show you. Contest ends (hopefully) somewhere in the next few weeks.
Good luck!
P.S. I'm from Texas, so don't guess there.
Rules:
1. 2 guesses per person—one in the US, one foreign.
2. Person with the closest guess gets a prize! I haven't decided what the prize is yet...but it won't be lame. I promise. I hate it when you've won a prize and you're all excited, wondering what it will be...and it's a hat. Or a weird poster. Or something.
Here is the link where you can find a list of the 345 possibilities: http://www.mission.net/cgi-bin/mission_index.cgi?action=show_current
Here are all the guesses so far. Be careful not to choose the same mission as someone else:
Alaska Anchorage
Australia Adelaide
Australia Melbourne
Austria Vienna
Brazil Rio de Janeiro
California San Bernadino
Canada Calgary
Cape Verde Praia
Chile Santiago North
China Hong Kong
Costa Rica San Jose
Denmark Copenhagen
France Paris
Georgia Atlanta
Germany Frankfurt
Germany Hamburg
Hawaii Honolulu
Idaho Boise
Illinois Nauvoo
Iowa Des Moines
Italy Catania
Japan Nagoya
New Hampshire Manchester
New York New York North
New York New York South
New York Rochester
New Zealand Aukland
Nigeria Enugu
Oklahoma Oklahoma City
Oregon Portland
Pennsylvania Harrisburg
Pennsylvania Pittsburgh
Philippines Cebu
Philippines Manila
Poland Warsaw
Russia Yekaterinburg
South Africa Durban
Spain Madrid
Utah Salt Lake City Temple Square
Washington Seattle
Washington Tacoma
Wisconsin Milwaukee
Zimbabwe Harare
I'm looking forward to tacking your guesses on my magnificent world map, which is currently hanging in my living room. As you can see from the list above, it's getting pretty crowded already. I shall have to take a picture when it's finished and show you. Contest ends (hopefully) somewhere in the next few weeks.
Good luck!
P.S. I'm from Texas, so don't guess there.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Summer of the Monkeys
It's summer. Spring did just that and has sprung right past me. But I can tell you it looked and smelled beautiful. I survived the remainder of my finals, and the trees and shrubs seemed to bloom in celebration. As I descended the long staircase south of campus after my last test, the trees bending their blossomed branches in an arch over my head, I was reminded of one of my favorite fictional heroines, who would have named such a place "White Way Delight"—so fitting because it suit both the sight and the feeling of that moment. And now it's summer. Most of the blossoms are gone, to be replaced by popsicles, grilled hot dogs and thunderstorms. I am enjoying the heat and the freedom.
I'm reading a book. A real book. Not some 800-page monstrosity prescribed by a professor. I am reading a romantic, suspenseful, full-of-imagery-and-simile's, delicious piece of fiction set in the 1930's, no strings (notes, critical analyses, quizzes or tests) attached. It's beautiful. And it's called Rebecca, by Daphne du Maurier. I highly recommend it.
I have another job. In addition to my custodial job on campus, I am now crowned with the privilege of sitting on a chair for three hours, blowing a whistle and screaming at running children, all while acquiring skin cancer. That's right, yours truly is a bona fide lifeguard! It's an entertaining job, to say the least. There's something about strutting around in a bathing suit with a red rescue tube and a whistle around your neck that strikes awe into people. The polarized sun glasses probably don't help, either. It gives us a blank, emotionless stare that creeps people out.
I love it.
My very first day, there were two boys throwing each other into the air in far too shallow water. I was on roving duty, which means I walk around and give people dirty looks, so I sauntered their way, staring in their direction as they approached. Both hesitated for a moment, one ready to launch the other. When I got close enough, I simply stared, silent, and shook my head slowly, disapprovingly. With the most frightened looks on their faces, both boys stammered nonsense and swam away.
Way too much fun.
Of course I jest. Lifeguarding is not all fun and games. I am haunted by the fear that in a brief moment of distraction, I'll miss a small child's head slipping beneath the water, and in the chaos of the scores of other children screaming and thrashing about as they play, I won't notice someone drowning. That very same day, an experienced lifeguard pointed out a particularly vulnerable boy to me, warning me to keep an eye on him. I didn't see at first glance what should make him a danger case, but not ten minutes later he wandered into water too deep. His tiny little arms were stretched up over his head, he was standing as far on the tips of his toes as he could, and still the surface of the water closed over his face. The sight of his eyes looking up from under the water horrified me. I've never had such an adrenaline rush in my life. I was in the act of jumping in when a mother nearby noticed, grabbed him and handed him to me. His mother, who was on the opposite side of the pool, noticed the commotion and casualy came over to retrieve him from me. She had been chatting with another woman and was still unaware that for the past fifteen minutes, her son had been wandering further and further away.
She seemed confused when I told her that he was too small, that she needed to stay with him. "He can't touch?" she said. She had no idea that he had almost drowned.
I know too many people who want to be lifeguards because they think it's an easy way to earn money and get a tan at the same time. I now know that, if your priorities are straight, the tan comes with a hefty dose of stress (which has nothing to do with sunburn). Being responsible for people's lives is and should not be easy. But I enjoy it. I gain a great deal of satisfaction at the end of my shift knowing there were no accidents under my watch.
I once read a book called Summer of the Monkeys. It was charming, about a young boy with dreams and ambitions like most other boys. It is full of Tom Sawyer-esque adventures and hilarious skirmishes, but mostly it is about what the boy learns, and how much he grows and changes in that one summer.
I'm looking forward to the rest of the summer. There are good, memorable days ahead. I am sure that I will look back upon this summer as one with particular meaning. This is a summer of change, of growth, of big decisions and new directions. I have chosen to serve a mission. The teachings of the church I have grown up in are responsible for all the good and happiness in my life, and I have decided to take the opportunity to share what I have found, what I know, with others.
It is not an easy decision. I have made many friends here, formed bonds that I do not want to break. People will move away or marry. My nephew will be four years old—speaking in full sentences and causing all sorts of trouble. My little sister will have grown up and become completely unrecognizable. I will delay my education for at least two years and spend a year and a half among complete strangers, in a culture different from mine, possibly speaking a language I have not learned, preaching a gospel I love but do not yet perfectly know, communicating with loved ones back home only through letters. I will work harder than I have worked in my entire life, facing new challenges and difficult situations, without the comfort of knowing that my loving parents are simply a phone call away.
It is not an easy decision, but it is a good one. I will grow up. I will be wiser and stronger for this experience, more confident in my own abilities and judgment. I will be better equipped to choose and direct the path of my life, to make difficult decisions and stick to them, no matter the cost. I will see another part of the world and open myself up to new, unique experiences and ideas. I will learn to love perfect stangers for the simple fact that they exist. I will share a knowledge that has so molded and defined me with others who need it, and experience the joy that only sharing something so sacred brings. My family, who have blessed me in so many ways, will in turn be blessed for my service. Despite all the doubts and fears thrown my way, I know that this is something I need. Everything I'm leaving behind, all the sacrifices I'll be required to make, will be for my good.
So I begin this summer with gratitude, and excitement, and that strange feeling you get when you know you're doing something for the last time, when you feel the significance of every thing and every person around you. You cherish everything so much more, and there seems to be so little time. The summer will pass so quickly, but I know it will be a good one.
I'm reading a book. A real book. Not some 800-page monstrosity prescribed by a professor. I am reading a romantic, suspenseful, full-of-imagery-and-simile's, delicious piece of fiction set in the 1930's, no strings (notes, critical analyses, quizzes or tests) attached. It's beautiful. And it's called Rebecca, by Daphne du Maurier. I highly recommend it.
I have another job. In addition to my custodial job on campus, I am now crowned with the privilege of sitting on a chair for three hours, blowing a whistle and screaming at running children, all while acquiring skin cancer. That's right, yours truly is a bona fide lifeguard! It's an entertaining job, to say the least. There's something about strutting around in a bathing suit with a red rescue tube and a whistle around your neck that strikes awe into people. The polarized sun glasses probably don't help, either. It gives us a blank, emotionless stare that creeps people out.
I love it.
My very first day, there were two boys throwing each other into the air in far too shallow water. I was on roving duty, which means I walk around and give people dirty looks, so I sauntered their way, staring in their direction as they approached. Both hesitated for a moment, one ready to launch the other. When I got close enough, I simply stared, silent, and shook my head slowly, disapprovingly. With the most frightened looks on their faces, both boys stammered nonsense and swam away.
Way too much fun.
Of course I jest. Lifeguarding is not all fun and games. I am haunted by the fear that in a brief moment of distraction, I'll miss a small child's head slipping beneath the water, and in the chaos of the scores of other children screaming and thrashing about as they play, I won't notice someone drowning. That very same day, an experienced lifeguard pointed out a particularly vulnerable boy to me, warning me to keep an eye on him. I didn't see at first glance what should make him a danger case, but not ten minutes later he wandered into water too deep. His tiny little arms were stretched up over his head, he was standing as far on the tips of his toes as he could, and still the surface of the water closed over his face. The sight of his eyes looking up from under the water horrified me. I've never had such an adrenaline rush in my life. I was in the act of jumping in when a mother nearby noticed, grabbed him and handed him to me. His mother, who was on the opposite side of the pool, noticed the commotion and casualy came over to retrieve him from me. She had been chatting with another woman and was still unaware that for the past fifteen minutes, her son had been wandering further and further away.
She seemed confused when I told her that he was too small, that she needed to stay with him. "He can't touch?" she said. She had no idea that he had almost drowned.
I know too many people who want to be lifeguards because they think it's an easy way to earn money and get a tan at the same time. I now know that, if your priorities are straight, the tan comes with a hefty dose of stress (which has nothing to do with sunburn). Being responsible for people's lives is and should not be easy. But I enjoy it. I gain a great deal of satisfaction at the end of my shift knowing there were no accidents under my watch.
I once read a book called Summer of the Monkeys. It was charming, about a young boy with dreams and ambitions like most other boys. It is full of Tom Sawyer-esque adventures and hilarious skirmishes, but mostly it is about what the boy learns, and how much he grows and changes in that one summer.
I'm looking forward to the rest of the summer. There are good, memorable days ahead. I am sure that I will look back upon this summer as one with particular meaning. This is a summer of change, of growth, of big decisions and new directions. I have chosen to serve a mission. The teachings of the church I have grown up in are responsible for all the good and happiness in my life, and I have decided to take the opportunity to share what I have found, what I know, with others.
It is not an easy decision. I have made many friends here, formed bonds that I do not want to break. People will move away or marry. My nephew will be four years old—speaking in full sentences and causing all sorts of trouble. My little sister will have grown up and become completely unrecognizable. I will delay my education for at least two years and spend a year and a half among complete strangers, in a culture different from mine, possibly speaking a language I have not learned, preaching a gospel I love but do not yet perfectly know, communicating with loved ones back home only through letters. I will work harder than I have worked in my entire life, facing new challenges and difficult situations, without the comfort of knowing that my loving parents are simply a phone call away.
It is not an easy decision, but it is a good one. I will grow up. I will be wiser and stronger for this experience, more confident in my own abilities and judgment. I will be better equipped to choose and direct the path of my life, to make difficult decisions and stick to them, no matter the cost. I will see another part of the world and open myself up to new, unique experiences and ideas. I will learn to love perfect stangers for the simple fact that they exist. I will share a knowledge that has so molded and defined me with others who need it, and experience the joy that only sharing something so sacred brings. My family, who have blessed me in so many ways, will in turn be blessed for my service. Despite all the doubts and fears thrown my way, I know that this is something I need. Everything I'm leaving behind, all the sacrifices I'll be required to make, will be for my good.
So I begin this summer with gratitude, and excitement, and that strange feeling you get when you know you're doing something for the last time, when you feel the significance of every thing and every person around you. You cherish everything so much more, and there seems to be so little time. The summer will pass so quickly, but I know it will be a good one.
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