Big Girl in Brazil

Fun fact: I am going on a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I will be serving in the Brazil São Paulo West Mission, speaking Portuguese, from August 2013 to February 2015. For those who struggle with calendar math (such as myself), that's 18 months in which I will be a full-time missionary in a foreign country, on a different continent, speaking a language that I currently don't know. While I am doing all of this, I will be completely dedicated to teaching the gospel of Jesus Christ. (Go here for more information about what a mission is. Or feel free to ask me any questions you may have!)

There will come a time in which I have much, much more to say about what all of this means to me. In fact, those posts are currently drafts.

But I wish to post something in the meanwhile. So stay tuned for the deeper stuff, it's on its way.

You know, my mom sometimes tells a story of my younger self. She always sang a lullaby when she tucked us in at night--usually whatever we chose. "Oh, Hush Thee, My Baby," was among the favorites. But it didn't take me long to catch on to something: my sneaky mother was trying to con me into thinking I was still a baby. And guess what? It wasn't working. On at least one occasion, my fiery red-headed self boldly informed my mom that, "I'm not a baby. I'm a big girl." And, in order to appease me, she changed the words. "Oh, hush thee, my big girl; a story I'll tell..."

(She also tells a story about my 18-month-old self running away from her, wagging my finger and yelling, "No no, Mommy, no no." But that is another tale for another day.)

I report to the missionary training center in 44 days and counting. Which means the deadline is fast approaching. The little details can't be overlooked for much longer--like the fact that I have only purchased a fraction of the wardrobe I will be needing to get me through 18 months of missionary service. So I'm becoming increasingly aware of the things that need to be taken care of and, apparently, so is my mother.

Every so often, my mom contacts me with various questions. It's usually sparked by troubles that other members of our congregation are having as they work through preparations for their missions, so the questions are along the lines of, "So-and-so is having trouble with his visa because of this, have you done that?" And I remind her that I was applying from the other end of the country and I applied through a different consulate.

Sometimes, however, the conversations are more varied. The following are samples of things I have said to my mother regarding my mission:

"Yes, I have been checking my church email. But remember, my mission is a new one and won't open until July. It doesn't exist yet."

"No, I can't go to Canada--I don't have a passport. Don't panic, I have a passport, but not with me. Yes, I know I will need it to get into Brazil. Mom, the church has my passport. They'll send it to me a week before I go to the MTC. I don't know how my visa status is, they'll tell me a week before I report if I'm going straight to Brazil or if I'm going to Provo first."

"I know I need clothes. Yes, I will need a suitcase. Mom, I can't bring that to Brazil with me--it's a giant teddy bear, I don't have room in my suitcase."

"Okay, I will try my hardest to get a present to Benny before Christmas. But remember how the mail is there. Sometimes the post office goes on strike and things."

"Yes, I've heard of the protests happening in Brazil, but who told you? Mom, you cannot keep reading the news about Brazil. It'll put you in a panic! You don't need to be that informed. I'll write you and tell you how things are going. Mom! This is like the time you watched a video of a hip replacement surgery before you got the surgery. You thought you needed to be informed then, too, and it turned out to be a horrible idea. Mom, really, don't follow the news in Brazil."

I am of the firm belief that my mom and I will be having the same conversations for the remainder of . . . forever. Because apparently we've had this one before. And you know how it ended?

If I recall the story correctly, the song went along the lines of something like, "Oh, hush thee, my big girl."

Hide-and-Go-Seek

Pretty much every morning this past month has gone down in the same lack-of-routine type of way. Meaning, I have no schedule, but similar things seem to happen in whatever random order they choose. You'll see what I mean in a minute.

Basically, I have lost all ability to wake up and get out of bed, with the exception of that one morning. And kind of today--I've been awake for two whole hours now, but that's about the extent of it. My theory is that 10 months of colleging instead of sleeping has finally caught up with me. Anyway, I generally out of bed when I'm too stiff to stay in there any longer (I'm nineteen, why do I sound like an old grandma talking?) or when my darling mother decides I've wasted enough of the morning away and I must get up. Either way, I groggily stumble my way into the kitchen and start fixing myself some breakfast, when my energetic three-year-old brother comes leaping and bounding into the kitchen with a stream of "Yet's pway a game! Yet's go outside! Do you want to ride my bike wif me?" spewing from his little mouth that has long since woken up and been fed.

I, however, fully intend to eat the delicious breakfast that I have slaved over. (Toast, most likely. Or something that requires a skill level akin to that of toast-making.) But, more often than not, I will leave my carefully crafted meal for a moment or two to play a game, and thus satisfy the small man-child that I might feast in relative peace.

One particular morning, the name of the game was hide-and-go-seek. I played a few rounds, and eventually began "hiding" on the stool directly in front of my tropical-blend smoothie. This must have gotten old, because he soon pulled Mom into playing with him. When she returned to her previous activity of "Monk-ing the house" (have you seen that show? we LOVE it in our house), Benny decided that he would play hide-and-go-seek with the remaining person in the near vicinity--himself. The conversation went as follows:

Benny: I'll play hide-and-go-seek wif myself! One-two-free . . . weady or not, here I come! [Clearly too excited about the vast array potential outcomes to count to the usual ten]
Benny: Now, where could I be?
Benny: Here I am!

The "Here I am!" was complete with a jump of sincere surprise, as if he was completely stunned to have found himself standing right where he was.

We often look at this boy and think, "Oh, to live Benny's life." Oh, to find such joy and surprise in playing hide-and-go-seek with yourself. Oh, to have that imagination. Oh, to be adored by all.

Just the same, I don't think I've quite grown out of the search for myself. Aren't we all in a continual search to discover who we are and what we can become? And as we look behind the couches and in the closets and all throughout the house in the most unsuspecting of places, I think it's fair to say that we are, on occasion, sincerely astonished to find ourselves. As if we hadn't known all along right where our personhood was hiding.

And that's the fun of it all. That's life--full of surprises, and the best ones are when you surprise yourself.

May we all find joy, excitement, thrill, and surprise as we search for ourselves throughout this life.

He also wears flippers while riding his tricycle.

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Conference Weekly here.

Let's Squish Our Fruits Together

Have you guys seen that video? It's hilarious. I regularly reference it in my day-to-day conversation ever since AP World History my junior year, when I saw it for the very first time. I mean, a grocery store musical? Brilliant. I love Improv Everywhere.

In other news, finger painting with the little brother is awesome.

Seriously, I don't remember the last time I finger painted before this. But you guys--you have to do it. Seriously. Go out and buy some washable paints, and just smear it everywhere. Make tie-dye colored handprints. Paint a house. Or a dog. Or a family. Smear all the paints together and make a brownish-red colored piece of paper. Paint each other. Paint yourself. And, for heaven's sake, get messy!

I promise, it's worth every extra second in the shower washing it off. It's not that many extra seconds anyway.

What can I say? I just really love this boy. And I am absolutely determined to never grow up anymore than I have to.

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Conference Weekly here.

Also, last week's is here.

Sorry it's late.