How Do You Know...?

 

Wasn't Conference amazing!

It was like Christmas here at the MTC!  That whole Saturday and Sunday was so relaxed and filled with the spirit that you could noticeably see every Elder and Sister smile a little more.  It's funny to watch Conference as a missionary in an auditorium packed with Elders and Sisters--everyone cries and laughs at all of the same parts and everyone sits up a little straighter when President Monson stands up to the podium.  It was fun to watch.

Speaking of missionary quirks, the second week I was here I started a list of ways "To Know You're a missionary at the MTC."  Since I've started it my companion and the other sisters in my room have started thinking of their own things and adding them to my list.  Here's a sneak peek:

How to Know You're a Missionary at the MTC

(with real-life examples):

1. Your language reflects your desire to "pray continually..." (Me: "Wait, Sis. B, can I have thy help?" OR Me: "Hey, Elder Greer, President Shin is looking for thee.") 
2. Your spiritual well-being begins to outweigh your physical well-being (Every night I have a new bruise and for the life of me, I can't remember when I could have possibly gotten it! We work so hard that we hardly notice when we walk into a wall or get punched by another Sister--I'm too preoccupied with memorizing Korean vocabulary)
3. Everything you laughed at before isn't very funny anymore, and everything you would never have laughed at suddenly becomes hilarious (We have a Sister from Mongolia going to Korea with us and she plays the same trick every breakfast, lunch and dinner. Anytime someone closes their eyes to pray over their food she quickly and quietly takes a few of their dishes and distributes them on other peoples trays. When they open their eyes it takes them a minute to realize and we all laugh like it's the most hilarious thing we've ever seen. Every time. We laugh every time.)
4. You learn to say hello in a billion languages (walking to and from my class here I say hello to my friends in the Thai district, the Mandarin district, the Japenese district, the Spanish district, and the Portuguese district. Sis. B and I are trying to learn the Cambodian hello, but we keep forgetting it.)

And the list goes on and on! We have some pretty good ones, but I've suddenly forgotten most of them! We have a good time learning here, I love it.

Sis. B and I like to say we're officially missionaries now because we've had our very first discouraging week, that was last week. Everything was going wrong! Everyone was sick, we were learning the most difficult sentence structures in Korean, we were suddenly finding it very difficult to have time to prepare our lessons and we didn't fell like our lessons were even helping our "investigators."

It all culminated Wednesday evening and it literally felt like my morale sighed, dropped its head, and cried. I remember sitting in class, just staring at the board as my teacher, Bro Ball, explained a difficult Korean structure, and wondering, "Holy cow, I'll never be able to do this--why was I called to speak Korean, how can I help someone feel the spirit and find a relationship with Christ if I hardly know what I'm saying?"

After class we all walked silently to our rooms, like little missionary zombies, and sat in our beds, staring at the ceiling. It was while I was spiritually moaning on my bed that I suddenly felt this surge of excitement. I was so taken off guard that I sat up in bed and laughed. My companion and the other sisters in my room turned to look at me and raised eyebrows in confusion. After a second I said, "Oh my gosh, we're missionaries! We've had our first bad day!"

We all laughed, and Sis. B and I started marching around like soldiers (not sure how to explain that one, but it helped with our resolve...)

I love being a missionary! Since then I've had this unsinkable excitement to learn everything. Korean is coming along so well now and I finally feel confident to express myself, as well as I know how, in Korean! It's a beautiful language with a lot of symbolism.

Love, love, love,

Sister Washburn