Called to Serve

On New Year's Eve thirteen years ago, my husband packed his bags (well, hopefully he packed a few days early), drove to Provo, and started his mission. He didn't so much love the MTC - waaaaay too many rules for him. He has this thing about rules - if they don't make much sense, he breaks them just to prove a point. Not really a good match for the MTC. He was also blessed with his not-so-favorite companion in the MTC. Oh the stories! And the lines - that's his main memory of the MTC - endless lines.
Luckily, after a long two months, he headed across the Atlantic and spent the next 22 months in Germany. We don't have any German blood, but we sure love Germany around here. Like most missionaries, he loved the country and loved the people (well, most of them).
Also like most missionaries, he thinks about his mission pretty much every day and even though it was a long time ago, the memories and lessons he learned are very much a part of our life. Like the time the entire mission read the Book of Mormon in one day. Or the time the newspaper did an article about the missionaries. Or the time he met President Uchtdorf (who wasn't yet President Uchtdorf - 13 years, remember) and President Uchtdorf told him to put on his jacket. Or the time he asked his mission president to go fishing and his president told him "Elder, sometimes it's better to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission." He didn't go fishing.
I didn't serve a mission. There was a time I thought I would, but life turned out a little differently for me. Both my mom's parents and dad's parents served missions after they retired. My Grandpa Max died while he and my Grandma Donna were serving their fourth mission together. She has since served a mission to Iowa and has been serving as a missionary on Temple Square for the past 9 or 10 years. So I tell myself someday...someday my husband and I will serve together. And then he starts speaking German at me so I can be ready and since I think German is a teensy bit harsh and ugly, I speak Spanish right back at him. We'll probably go to Russia.

Cole at the airport when Uncle Jake came home from Chile

When Cole turned 6 a few weeks ago, I realized that Floyd left 13 years ago and, if we play our cards right, Cole will leave in 13 years. I will miss him like crazy, but I sure hope he goes. And I think I better start praying for his companions and his president right now.


Also on the subject of missions...

My husband has a recurring dream that he has to go back on his mission. He really did love his mission, but it scares him every time. He has it so often that I even dreamed the other day that he had to go back. The only thing I remember from the dream is that I hoped he would mention me in his farewell talk.

Last year, we were driving around Hawaii with my parents and the subject of missionaries came up. Cole emphatically stated that he did not want to go. We all tried to talk them up and said that some missionaries even got to go to Hawaii. In a very teenager-like-voice, Cole stated, "still no." It's one of our favorite trip memories. Fortunately, his enthusiasm for missions has increased a little bit in the past year.