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.

He said what?

An amendment to the last post: it is officially getting to me.

Anyway. Last night I thought I'd check the website of a guy I used to date. I thought he was a pretty cool guy, and I still wonder what he's up to even though we haven't been on speaking terms since we broke up about a year and a half ago now. He uses his website to post creative projects--songs he's written, videos he's made, essays, that kind of thing. Last night I saw he had a new "album" of songs posted, and as I was giving it a listen, I discovered there was a song about me on there.

I'm not including a link for a few reasons. One of those is that he uses a few words that...well, they aren't a part of my vocabulary. He really isn't trying to remember things fondly. Nonetheless, when I first heard the song, I was kind of pleased in a weird way--I mean, has anyone ever written a song about you? Also, it...illuminated some of the things I've been wondering about.

Still, though, I seriously wanted to respond (and the chance to defend myself!). I thought about the whole thing as I walked to the store and bought some groceries. On my way back, I started writing my own little song.

Now, you have to understand, I'm not angry or spiteful. During everything with this kid I never wanted to say or do anything I would regret later on. And I held to that philosophy as I laid on my bed writing out lyrics. The product was kind of a mix of Jewel and Bright Eyes and as I sing through it I hear some nice guitar work in my mind. I also started working out a plan to get him to hear it as I ruminated over things--"If I got lots of people to link to his site from where it was posted..."

I don't actually play the guitar, though--at all. I thought about the people I knew who did and couldn't think of any one person who had both the ability to compose and play those intense solos I was imagining and the time/availability/willingness to work on the song--and who I would be comfortable doing it with ("No, see, I know you're having a hard time making all those words fit, but that's how I feel...").

So then I thought, "I know, I'll ask Conor Oberst to do it." He's a stranger (reduces awkwardness) and my song totally sounds like something he would do. And maybe that would solve the delivery problem, too. He has lots of songs about New York. He probably lives there. The guy-I-formerly-dated now lives in New Jersey--"Hey, Conor, that was awesome. Now would you mind just skipping over to Morristown and knocking on his door? Thanks, that would be great."

The Mission Call

It's lost.

That's pretty much why I don't have it yet. But it's my own fault. It's also really complicated, but people have been asking me to explain. Here's how it went down.

I got an email from my stake president June 14 saying my papers had been reviewed, and a call was sent out (stake presidents have access to the status of mission papers). It should arrive Wednesday.

On the following Wednesday, nothing came. I would be going out of town Thursday afternoon until Sunday night, so even if it came the following day, I would miss it. My mom convinced me to talk to the post office. My roommate drove. A nice employee told me if I put a hold on my mail, it wouldn't be delivered and I could pick anything that came up the following morning from the post office before leaving town (he was sympathetic and really nice about it--and I think I got a little more help than normal).

Thursday morning, my mom had come down to Provo to drive me to the airport. We go to the post office and talk to a very accommodating employee who looked for my mail--but had to report that nothing had come. But she then showed us the route map for my address and told us to go hunt down the carrier.

We go and patrol the eight blocks for a good...twenty minutes, at least. I'm ready to give up. We find a carrier--but he was a block outside the correct route. Some more patrolling, and we find the right carrier. "No mission calls today," he says.

My mom and I head to Salt Lake. En route, she gets on the phone with the bishop. He does a bit of searching, and we figure out what went wrong:

I had written the wrong mailing address on the papers. I had moved like a week before I filled them out, and was two blocks off.

He does have the date I'm leaving, though: September 10. Apparently, he gets the date as a confirmation that the call was issued.

I go out of town. And a bunch of other things happen...well, mostly my mom sending people to look for the address I wrote down (which, despite what the post office said, doesn't exist).

That's where things are. The Missionary Dept can't send out a duplicate until something like two weeks after the original. I think we're waiting for that...although something else might happen in the meantime, I don't know. Pretty much I don't care where I'm going. I don't care as much about finding out, either--every time we chase down a postman, I get my hopes up but then nothing comes of it. So I'm cool just waiting and not thinking about it.