MTC Day

As I mentioned earlier, I am trying to keep my commentary to a minimum; however, yesterday--MTC Day--involved the family, so I am going to insert us into the conversation. This should be one of the last such entries.

Our day began after a short night: I think it was around 3:00 a.m. when Lisa and I retired, finishing up last minute tasks.

Mom, doing some last minute organizing of Sam's stuff.

We spent the morning at the Provo temple, where Sam was able to participate in sealing ordinances for the first time.  She was a bit nervous that she was going to have to perform those ordinances with some random young men that she didn't know; I assured her that that would not be the case (although I must admit that as we were ushered into the sealing room along with what looked like four elders from the MTC, I started second guessing myself).  As we walked to sealing rooms, Sam said, "I'm not getting sealed to them, even if it is for someone else."

"Honey, no worries, they don't let missionaries do sealings anymore, " I told, at this point only half believing myself.

We were grateful to learn that MTC missionaries were only aloud to serve as proxies for the children. The last thing we needed were four overly-anxious elders, believing they had just been given a "sign" that they should marry the petite sister they met at the altar.

The sealing session was a sweet experience.  During the session, the sealer shared some thoughts on how often the dead for whom we are officiating are close by and involved in the work.  He then made the point that this work is all about individuals, and that behind every name is an individual.  As we left the room and walked toward the locker room, I reminded Samantha of what the sealer and said, and told her, "Don't forget--your mission experience is all about individuals--real people with real lives; go touch them one at a time; you're an individual too, so let them know who Samantha Reeves is."

Lisa couldn't help herself; she had to buy some Canadian flags to adorn our vehicles.

After the temple, we went home for last minute preparations: mom scrambled to find Sam's immunization records; Sam was busily trying to download classical and church music onto the iPod Shuffle we just bought for he; I was trying to make sure that the Wifi-enabled camera that we bought the night before actually uploaded her photos to the cloud as advertised.

After all the work was done, and suitcases were finally zipped up, we had one last family prayer, and I was able to give Samantha one last Father's blessing before she departed.

We then went to lunch as a family at a quiet restaurant.  Sam was busy during most of the lunch, writing letters to each of us.  Each of us took turns expressing to Sam the ways in which were going to miss her.  She then explained the ways in which she was going to miss each of us.  Yes, several tears were shed--except Jeffrey, who remained stoic throughout (although he did choke up the night before but he probably won't admit that :)).  Below are some photos from lunch:

"Group hug" before we left to the MTC.

From there it was on to the MTC, an experience that was actually much better than I had anticipated.  I went into the MTC in the 90's during the "good old days," where family, friends, girlfriends, grandparents, and I suspect even a few pets all sat through an hour long meeting, filled with a talk by the MTC President, a video that was made to make you cry, and the MTC choir to make you cry some more.  That whole affair had apparently become to much, and so the MTC now has you just drop off your kids curbside. I had heard that people felt rushed, as "impatient" greeters whisked one's missionary away.

Our experience was quite the opposite.  Perhaps those who would otherwise rush us were intimidated by the sight of our 8-passenger, V-10, Ford Excursion (aka. Mormon Assault Vehicle), complete with Canadian flags flying from the windows.  We were politely told where to park the vehicle, where we were greeted by Sam's host, a fellow sister missionary, who told us to take our time, take pictures, and give hugs.  We had done most of that prior to arriving, so we were relatively efficient in doing so curbside.  After some more tears and hugs, Sam left with her escort.

I was proud that she didn't look back.

Scenes from the MTC below:

The day was a beautiful day, a wonderful mix of what those who send missionaries off usually experience: mixed emotions of pride, excitement, fulfillment, emptiness, melancholy, and peace.  I wrote the following letter to Samantha the night before she left, which describe some of those feelings. I'll close with that letter.

Samantha Marie,

Ok, so I’ve never really called you that, but it just sounded good.  Tonight, after you went to bed, I thumbed through my mission box—a treasure of photos, letters, and journals—a startling sensation of nostalgia (coupled with an odd sense of melancholy) swept over me.  I have such sweet and tender memories of my missionary experience, and tonight as I thought about that full-time missionary service long since past, I felt a little sadness that those two years are behind me.  An odd feeling really, as normally I just feel joy in those memories.

Perhaps that melancholy is simply there because I am realizing now, as a few tears start to well up in my eyes as I write this, that not only are my full-time mission days behind me, but my little girl is behind me too.

I cried at your baptism; I cried as we took you to the temple for the first time, and I cried at your farewell. I suspect I’ll shed a few tears tomorrow. A friend of mine, who just put his son in the MTC a few months ago, didn’t’ shed any tears as his son departed. He was so grateful that his son had actually made it that he felt nothing but relief, fulfillment and satisfaction. Today I asked him about that experience, and as we talked I suggested that I probably wouldn’t experience the same feeling he did when he dropped his son of at the MTC, to which he replied, “Of course, you won’t. We were getting rid of a liability; you’re getting rid of an asset.”

And that is true.  You are an asset of the most rare and valuable kind.  I will miss you.  I will miss your always-inquisitive mind, you relentless pursuit of improvement, and your belief that you will be the first person on the planet to actually fit 27 hours into a 24 hour time period.  Yes, I will miss you.

But even as I type this, my soul swells with excitement over the adventure that awaits you.  At the moment, I am looking at a photograph of me at the MTC on July 10, 1991.  I was ready.  You are ready.  And when you a ready, and when you allow yourself the freedom to make mistakes and the freedom to grow, your MTC experience will be life-changing.  Your time in Toronto will be even more life-changing—exponentially greater than your MTC experience.

Don’t take yourself too seriously; revel in the glorious atonement that truly does compensate for your weaknesses.  Find ways to laugh at yourself, and move on.  Don’t see failure and weakness; see opportunity and strength.   I was blessed with the unique ability to be hard on myself, but to quickly allow the Savior to forgive me.  I pray you’ll do the same over the next 18 months.

Find the good in your companion and roommates, and turn your attention to lifting them.  Do not wish for the MTC experience to be over with; suck the marrow out of it while you’re there.  I loved the MTC: I loved the classes, the teaching, and I loved the breaks for lunch and sports.  The devotionals were out of this world, and the testimony meetings were even better.  The MTC is like EFY on steroids.  And please, as hard as it may be, don’t complain about the MTC food (like everyone else does). It’s not that bad; in fact, I recall quite liking it.  And while you’re there, indulge a little. A bowl of lucky charms won’t kill you J.

Sometime today, you will settle into your room, and you will have a few moments to record your thoughts in your journal, or to write a letter home to Mom and Dad (don’t you dare forget that part!). Take time to do both.  They will provide treasures for you—especially 23 years later, the night before your daughter enters the MTC. In fact, they’ll probably bring a lot of joy and little bit of melancholy.  I love how the gospel continually presents these beautiful paradoxical moments for us.

As your write in that journal or that first letter, I thought you might find it fun to see what dear old Dad wrote when I was in your shoes 23 years ago.  Attached is my first journal entry, along with my first letter home.  When you arrive in Toronto, I’ll send you the first letter I wrote to my mission president.

I love you, Sister Sam.  Good night.

Love,


Dad