Man, I’m super tired today. I just got home from work so I’m starving and just want to wear pajamas. I don’t care that it’s only 6:30 on a Saturday night. Sometimes you just need a night in. Especially after a long day spent wholly in a skirt. This morning I went to the temple with some people from my ward. It was so awesome to go with people again. My schedule is kind of weird and changes all the time so I usually just go by myself, which is also a really good experience, just different.
Anyways, then I had work at the MTC at one so I came home and ate and then went right back up to 9th East. I feel like I spend a lot of time there... haha oh well. The missionaries were getting really tired by the end of class, so I think that’s partly why I feel so tired now. We did weekly planning today and it was pretty boring even as the teacher, which you know is a problem. Sometimes it’s so surreal to be back in the MTC. I find myself reminiscing everyday back to my life less than two years ago. It’s the same ‘70’s style brick walls with equally old, distasteful carpet. The same flimsy desks with “tables” that only hold half of one notebook. The same tension in the air when the teacher throws out something new in Italian and nobody gets it. It seems like the only difference is… well, me. Now I’m on the other side. I’m the “experienced” one, the one who made it all the way to the mission field and back. I’m the teacher that throws out the Italian like nobody’s business. (Well, at least I try haha. I’m still learning!) Watching these missionaries, I remember how hard it was to learn a new language. I remember how awkward it was to stop someone on the street and ask them in broken, halting Italian if they would listen to a message about Jesus. I remember thinking on Saturday nights that all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and throw the blanket over my head. I remember how the four brick walls seemed to get closer and closer together the more time I spent between them. I remember my companion scratching tick marks in the gray cement between the bricks to mark each day in our “prison.” Remembering it like that makes me wonder why I ever enjoyed those six weeks there and why on earth I would want to go back.
But then I really remember. I remember friendly smiles and encouraging words. I remember giggling over rookie mistakes. I remember the distinct smell of cheap hand soap. I remember the warm biscuits and gravy that I always craved. I remember the sound of a million voices singing together. I remember the incredible spirit that followed us everywhere.
That is why I wanted to go back. That is why I am so lucky that I can go back five times a week. Even though my role has changed, their role is the same. There is just something different there, something unique that you can’t find anywhere else. And even though I’m totally wiped out and just want to crash at the end of each day, it’s totally worth it. I just love seeing the missionaries faces light up when they realize that they are doing the Lord’s work. I can’t believe how much I just adore and love these wonderful missionaries that have decided to sacrifice this time for God. There is nothing more beautiful to me than that.