What Goes Into a Mission?

For one thing, a lot of clothes. One result of my thrifty (read--cheap) habits is that I don't have many clothes that will work for a mission. My "nice" pair of shoes is coming apart in a couple of places, so I needed two new pairs of those, plus boots for rain and mud. For the last few years I have used a sports coat I got at Goodwill for under ten dollars, so I needed a couple of new suits. Add to that a bunch of white shirts, socks specially made for tracting (who knew there was such a thing?), some ties, odds and ends like shoe-shine kits and outlet converters, and a giant sham-wow for a towel, and that price tag is looking a little bit frightening.

For another thing, I'm getting in shape. This really started at the beginning of Spring Term, when I started playing racquetball 4 times a week (for a class) and basketball, volleyball, or running about as often (just for fun). This routine has morphed into hiking all around the state of Utah--Arches National Park, Zions Canyon, Bryce Canyon. Encouragingly, none of the hikes we have gone on have worn me out, I feel in pretty good shape for stuff like this. Which is very, very good, as evidenced by one guy's description of Valparaiso, one of the bigger cities in my mission: "It's like they dropped houses everywhere they could, which is incredible considering the hills. I mean, big hills, all over the places. I do not want to be in that city during an earthquake. By the way, how are your knees?"

I am also spending a lot of time with my family--while hiking, while in the car, while visiting extended family all over Utah. I am going to miss them. I don't think the kids have quite realized that I will be gone, completely and totally gone, for two whole years, with no communication but letters. Not even Skype. Also, my dad's mission stories have suddenly gained clear and perfect relevancy. Whereas before they were entertaining, now they are vital information I need before I make the same sort of journey myself.

This Friday I am going through the temple. I still remember the day that one of my roommates went through during Spring Term. There was a light in his eyes afterwards, a brightness, a gleam, that was not there before. I cannot wait.

Every year of my life before this one, I have looked towards a mission like I would a far-away mountain. Definitely there, but too distant to worry about much. Now, however, it occupies much of my thoughts. What will it be like to live in Chile? To teach the gospel to people who have not grown up in the church like I have, in a language I don't yet know? To spend every minute with some random guy--no, not random, nothing about this is random--with some specific-but-not-yet-known guy? To retract myself from the world I have lived in for the last 18 years so that I can devote myself completely to God's work?

To feel the spirit confirm what I say in this language I don't yet know, perhaps every day for the next two years? To see people give up their lives to follow Christ? To see miracles happen, even to be a part of them?

The time seems to be slipping by faster and faster all the time--this mountain is no longer far off in the distance, it will soon fill my entire view--but still, I cannot wait.

The Most Exciting Moment of my Life

I think this post is long overdue, but I'm glad I'm finally writing it. With a really sensationalist title considering that this experience did not include firefights, car chases, or sky diving.

What it did include was a big white envelope with "Dear Elder Ray" written on the front. 

Funny, isn't it, that despite 18 years of ups and downs, adventures, disappointments, amazements, living life the best way I know how, the most exciting moment to date was cutting open a white envelope with blue-handled scissors, trying to keep my hands from shaking, imagining the words I was about to read? 

I put in my papers towards the end of Winter semester. I figured my call would come during the first week of Spring term--turned out it was the second week. I had it sent to my Uncle Larry's house, since I wasn't 100% sure where I would be living in the Spring. And so one Wednesday afternoon my phone rang. "Hey Jason, we've got a bit white envelope at our house! What time should I bring it by?" 

Immediately after this phone call I had a class, Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith. Phenomenal class--probably a big reason I am here Spring term is so I can take this class. But that Wednesday I could not focus at all. I texted my mom, my dad, my bishop, my friends and family, everyone who had ever asked to be there for my call opening. When class finally got out I burst out of that room like a slingshot, my phone immediately against my ear to figure out how I was going to Skype both of my parents at once. 

My Uncle didn't bring the call until 8:00, and my class was out by 6:30, so I tried to find a way to keep myself from going crazy in the meantime. I ended up listening to a talk by Ronald A. Rasband about the calling process; how a member of the first presidency or the 12 will kneel in prayer before he begins assigning missionaries, listening closely to the spirit that gives a powerful confirmation for each and every Elder called. 

Finally my Uncle arrived. At this point my world kind of shrank down to the size of an 8 1/2 by 11 envelope. I'm pretty sure there were a lot of people there, and my bishop might have brought donuts. But once that envelope was in my hand, everything else kind of faded into the background. 

One of my roommates grabbed a pair of scissors. I took a look around the room--Wow, there are a lot of people here, I didn't know I had this many friends!--and the turned back to the envelope. I think I narrated my actions for the benefit of my parents, who were watching from a tiny little webcam. "I'm opening the letter... still opening... I'm doing it slowly to build suspense..." (in truth I was doing it slowly because my hands were shaking so much I couldn't work the scissors). Then it was open. I pulled out the paper--someone shouted "cover the mission!" so I put my hand over the bottom half of the first paragraph.

Before my hand settled over the name of my mission, I thought I saw an accent mark, a little squiggle that doesn't exist in any English/American words. Oh my gosh! I'm going somewhere with an accent mark! I think this was the point when my heart started racing like a speedboat. 

I read of the words, slowly and loudly so that everyone listening could hear. "Dear Elder Ray." Elder Ray. Wow. How cool is that, being called Elder? 

Finally I got to the line where they stated my mission. I moved my hand and read it aloud: "You have been called to serve in the Chile, Viña del Mar mission." Language: Spanish. Date: August 10th, Provo MTC. 

I stepped back, stunned and amazed, and fell down. Literally, my legs just stopped holding me up, so I sat down in a heap. I think in that one moment it came into my heart as strong as anything ever has--this is good. This is right. This is where I need to be! Everyone around me was cheering, clapping, yelling my name and their congratulations. 

Chile. I'd better start calling it Chi-le instead of Chill-y so I don't sound like a total American, even though I am a total American. Chile is the really narrow one right next to the ocean, right? What is it like? I don't know anyone who has been to Chile! I wonder if they have delicious bananas like they do in Brazil. I think they probably do, but it seems kind of discriminatory to say "oh, Chile is in South America--bananas!" Oh my goodness, I'm going to Chile! With bananas! 

I got up and hugged everyone in the room, and people slowly trickled out. I read through the mission packet--I need to bring a warm coat and plenty of moleskin for blisters--and then through the letter again. 

I had never considered going to Chile. Brazil yes, my YM president back home went to Brazil and it sounded like an amazing place. I had also considered Norway, Russia, South Africa, Las Vegas, and Iran, but never Chile. However, from the moment I read off the name with the squiggle that I didn't know how to pronounce, I knew it was right. This assurance has not left me for one moment since then. Chile. I get excited just saying the name.

There are more parts to this story now--miracles and amazing 'coincidences' (I don't believe in coincidences)--but I'll save those for later, since this blog post is getting pretty long. 

Chile. Oh yeah. 

Yes, it is possible that this happened at three in the morning...

"OK, guess what this one is. Baa-aaa-aaa-aaa!"

"A cow!"

"A Crocodile!"

"An Alligator!"

"No dumby, alligators have longer snouts and some of their teeth rest outside their mouth. That means it would make more of a 'Beeh-eeh-eeh-eeh' sound."

"Oh... sorry. gotta be a crocodile then."

Spring term? I kinda like it.

Packing

Is what I should be doing. But I'm not. Because I'm sitting here typing this blog post about how I should be packing.

In the last five days, I have said goodbye to 90% of the people I know, with the expectation that I will not see any of them again for a minimum of two and a half years, possibly longer.

Tomorrow at noon, I'll get on a bus and drive up to Idaho to spend a much-needed restful weekend at my sister's. I'll be coming back on Monday, but it will be... different. Different because so many of the people who made BYU what it is for me will be gone.

And that's why I haven't started packing yet. Because once I start... I might eventually finish (4 in the morning though it may be). And when I finish, I leave. And when I leave, an entire chapter of my life, the chapter labeled "freshman year," will be over.

Well, I guess it's times like these when I "Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened."

More Miracles

Last week I saw the power of the Priesthood. This week I've seen how much better my life works when I go with God's plan, and His help, instead of trying to figure things out on my own.

Saturday was the first day of finals. I took two, and did decently--not great, but well enough for their respective classes. 

Yesterday, Monday, I decided to take my Chem 113 final. Chem 113 is the freshman chemistry lab class--I got to use beakers and mix chemicals and burn my hands with acid, it was great! Anyway, I did horrifically on the final exam. I won't know my score for a few weeks, but I would be confident in saying it is my worst test so far, ever.

About 9/10 of the way through the chem final, I realized one thing that was horribly, horribly wrong with my testing experience. I had not started the test with a prayer. 

At BYU, there is a saying that the holiest building on campus is the testing center, because so many desperate, earnest prayers are offered up there. I actually think this is a wonderful thing. We should all ask God for help in our tests, in the Heber J. Grant testing center or wherever else we may be!

And I had completely forgotten that. I was taking this test with an attitude not so much of "How can I prepare myself to be an instrument in God's hands, with His help" as "Hey, lets go show everyone just how awesome Jason Ray is! It'll be fun!" (Hint: Jason Ray is not very awesome. Just a really little bit.)

This realization hit me too late for my chem final, but I went at my American Heritage final today with a different attitude. I made sure to consecrate not just my final, but my entire day, to God (as part of a larger effort to consecrate my entire life). My performance was correspondingly much better. 

Such a simple answer, yet so hard for me to grasp!

This is not the only reason I know God is better at all this than I am. I have had several things happen today that basically scream in my face "Jason, stop trying to do this on your own, just turn to God and it will turn out better than you can imagine!" 

I'll try to take my last final--my final final--with the same attitude I had today. And even if it doesn't turn out quite how I think I want it to, I know it will happen exactly as God does. 

Of Priesthood Blessings and Choir Concerts

The forward to "Life of Pi" says that it is "a story that will make you believe in God." Tonight, I gained one of those stories for my very own.

Tonight was the University Choral choir concert. At the beginning of the semester, I was not planning on being in Choral; however, I thought about it and prayed about it and decided that it was the right thing for me to do, even though it would put me up to 18 credits.

This means that tonight was a night I had been preparing for and working towards for an entire semester.

Only one problem--Sunday night I came down with a bad cold that made my throat ache and burn at the same time,  made me wish I could lie in bed all day eating chicken noodle soup instead of going to classes. Singing? Out of the question.

Monday night I was reading in the scriptures about miracles. I came across a passage in Matthew: "And Jesus went all about Galilee...  healing all manner of sickness and all manner of disease among the people." As I read that, a couple of things clicked.
a. Christ is really good at healing. Like, so good He kind of got a rep for it in His mortal life.
b. How many times have I heard it said that God wants to grant us our righteous desires?
c. I live within ten feet of five worthy Priesthood holders.
So all I had to do was get a Priesthood blessing and have some faith, and I would be healed to sing on Wednesday! I prayed to ask God how He felt about that plan. The feelings I got were very positive--yes, go for it, this is good, this is right. I asked two of my roommates to give me a blessing; I was blessed that I would be able to sing in the concert.

Two days later. I woke up this morning feeling a good deal better than I had the two days previous, but still not great. Yet, even though I could sing a few scales (very gently of course), I had one big problem--coughing fits. Periodically, throughout this entire day, I broke into massive coughing fits. These aren't cute little girly coughs, these are shake-my-entire-body-and-yours-too-if-you-stand-too-close coughs. The kind that make people duck for cover while they're walking down the hall.

I called my mom a little before noon to ask her opinion on my performing that night. She pointed out not only that my coughing fits could be hugely distracting to performers and audience alike, but that I might have been thinking about this the wrong way--not everyone gets healed. And that's not because God is lazy or spiteful, it's because He sees things more clearly than we do, and He knows what we really need. And sometimes what we really need is to get sick.

This was incredibly hard for me to accept. I had been working toward this night for an entire semester! I took 18 credits, devoted hours to practice and rehearsal every week, gave up things I would have liked to do, so that I could sing in this concert. And just like that, I was supposed to give it all up?

Well, yeah, if that's what God wanted. After a good 30 minutes on the phone with Mom, I resigned myself to not singing in the concert. I would buy a ticket and watch them instead. That way I would still be supporting the choir, even if I couldn't sing in it.

According to the syllabus for University Choral, the only way to be excused from singing in the concert is to talk to the director, Dr. Broomhead. Accordingly I went to our rehearsal 15 minutes early, accosted the director, and explained the situation. Then I asked if he still wanted me to sing in the choir.

"Does it hurt when you sing?"
"No..."
"Then go ahead."
"Even if I start coughing?"
"If you cough in rehearsal, no problem, just step out until you stop. If you cough in the show... well, we'll just take our chances."

And so, just like that, I was singing in the show again.

The rehearsal was tough. As expected, I coughed. A lot. And couldn't really sing half of my usual range. I had to leave early to go to class, so I didn't get to touch base with Dr. Broomhead again until just before the show. As I walked in I asked one more time if he wanted me to sing, even if I started coughing.

"Yep! Just go for it!"

I ate a cough drop and prayed some more.

Here is where the miracle happened. From the moment I walked into the De Jong (pronounced De Yong) concert hall until I was already walking back to my dorm after the show, I did not cough once. Not only did I not cough, but I was actually able to sing! It wasn't the best singing I have ever done, but it was confident and powerful.

And oh, it was exhilarating. Performing in front of an audience--an audience that is rumored to have contained President Uchtdorf--was an experience I will not soon forget. Feeling the connection between myself, the rest of the choir, the conductor, and the audience was amazing. The new heights that we, the choir, rose to in response to the challenge of performing were awesome, inspiring. In between songs, I couldn't stop smiling a big, goofy smile.

And knowing that I was singing on a voice given to me by God, by the atonement of Jesus Christ, knowing that without a Priesthood blessing I would probably be sitting in the audience--way in the back of the audience so that my coughing fits wouldn't distract anyone--made it all the sweeter.

Flowers

These flowers are making me very happy right now.

This is my Women's Chorus man-fan shirt. The back says "Man enough to wear a flower." After last night's concert, I couldn't not get a shirt!

These flowers are right outside our window on a tree that leans out over the roof. 

(The picture is grainy because I took it through the screen.)

Spring is coming! It's a beautiful day outside--so beautiful I'm about to go study in the sun, just because I can--conference is on today, and life is wonderful.