From the Vault

It’s so interesting how memories will surface after being tucked away so long, and how they can almost knock you over. That happened to me last week while I was reading a book called Warlight (3 out of 5 stars, FYI). There was a scene about packing a trunk and an impending separation between parent and child that was probably incredibly typical of WWII-era Britain. But what it jogged in my brain was packing for my mission almost 10 years ago.

In the three months between opening my mission call and leaving for the MTC, everything that we bought for my time away got piled onto the bed in our guest bedroom. Periodically my mom and I would go in there and count out how many shirts I had, check the list again to see what else I might need, etc. Then the day before we flew out, we stacked it all on the living room floor, alongside the two big suitcases I would be packing my life in for the next two years.

As I rushed around that day, packing somehow got away from me. And when I say “somehow,” I’m 99 percent certain I was avoiding it. I knew the stacks just needed to get transferred into the luggage, but I kept busy with some last visits from friends, final phone calls, and a trip to the stake president to get set apart. I was so surprised to finally head into the living room and see that all of my piles of clothes and gear had been lovingly and neatly packed by my dad. It was such a relief to me to have one chore taken off of my plate, and it was also totally emblematic of who my dad is. He saw a need and chose to step in with no fanfare, no fuss. It meant a lot to me that night, knowing that my life was ready to be wheeled away and that it wasn’t a going to be a slapdash, panic-induced mess when I opened those bags up in Utah.

My mission feels like so long ago. I loved what it taught me, and I mourned it when it was over. But I’ve had so much to do since then that there are certain moments that I don’t think about like I used to, and I was so grateful that a book I didn’t totally love pulled a cherished memory from the archives for me.

I heard a song by the Brothers Osborne today for the first time that was very striking for several reasons. One of them was this snippet of a verse:

Count your blessings, thank the stars
'Cause in the end who you are
Is about the love you give
It sure as hell ain't about the money

What a gift to have a life full of people I can count as blessings and who demonstrate their love for me, especially a dad who continues to show devotion to me and my winding journey through life. And to think that this is one of the almost forgotten examples means I have so much to be thankful for in all he's done for me these last 30 years.

This is the face of an incredibly nervous 21 year old.
Wheeling your life around in two suitcases was unnerving for a kid
who had never left the nest before.

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