The Mission Call (and how it came, not how it was delayed)

I don't have any pictures. I'm sorry. If you need an image, just picture me sitting on the couch with my parents and my aunt, and a few cellphones out for the benefit of my sisters in California. 

The call never came in the mail--my mom got someone in my ward who knew someone else to get another one printed off and he picked it up and then we picked it up from him...the details aren't too important. I didn't want to believe I would actually get it until I held it in my hands. And I did. And a couple hours later, I opened it.

 Korea Seoul West. I was, well, shocked when I opened the letter and read it--as trite as that sounds, that's what best describes it. It took about a half hour for it to start to sink in. 

So, I guess I'm going to Korea. Not only had Korea not once crossed my mind, but I know next to nothing about Korea. It is Asian. They eat rice. There are those traditional, loose-fitting, dresses that I've seen in pictures (I'm sure there will be a picture of me in one sooner or later), and kimchi. The Korean War happened in Korea. And I know that North Korea is, to quote a Korean business man I met once, "A very scary place." 

I have felt a little overwhelmed since finding out last night. I keep thinking, "I don't know how I'm going to do this." Korea seems very far away, and I feel like there is so much to learn--the (difficult!) language, but also figuring out how not to commit the cultural equivalents eating off my knife and asking my hostess' weight at a dinner appointment. 

So far, I have learned to spell "Seoul."

What it comes down to, though, is that I am going for the same reasons I would go anywhere else, and teaching the same things I would teach going anywhere else. And those things, ultimately, are what matter.