Who's gonna drive you home tonight

This is the story of the mighty Thor. Thor the Jeep. Thor is my first car that I've purchased with my own money. Did I mention that I haven't had a car of my own since I went to college the first time in 2010? Well, I was pretty excited to buy him. I felt pretty adult-ish. Yeah. Adulting. So much fun.

When I named him Thor, I didn't know how much the following story would resemble the plot of a certain Marvel film. My roommate suggested the name, and hey, it's big and red and strong and old and such.

Earlier this summer, my mom decided to send my youngest sister out to this side of the country to visit me and then we'd drive up to Idaho to visit our middle sister and her husband. We had a wonderful adventure plan. My middle sister lives about four hours away, and we planned on going to Yellowstone and simply having a wonderful western adventure together. Well, I drove the hour to the airport, and my car was getting a little overheated. I had to wait more than two hours to pick up my sister due to flight delays and her status as an unaccompanied minor. I figured the two plus hours would suffice to cool down my Thor. 

So when I finally had my sister, we went on our merry way to Idaho.

We didn't get very far.

Twenty minutes later, my car was overheating again. So I pulled over to the side of the interstate. We waited a while, and then tried to start the car again. But Thor wasn't having it. Remember the part where I said my family is on the other side of the country? Yeah. Help. (In hindsight I don't know why I didn't call my one of my roommates... probably that dumb thing called pride.) Eventually some guy in a tiny little Mazda pulled over, tried to help and ended up towing my huge car to the next town, where he had a mechanic friend. That was probably the most scary thing of my life. Waaaaay scarier than the time I moved to Europe to live with a family I'd never met. I was terrified that something would go wrong and I would crush his pint-sized car or kill his engine or run into something else or or or... yeah. You get the picture. Itty bitty convertible Mazda pulling my (literally) one-ton vehicle at highway speed. So many things could have gone wrong.

This all took place in the evening, so of course the shop was closed. My sister and I slept in the back of my Jeep. In the morning, the mechanics looked at my engine. My sister and I had walked to a store in search of AC, and when I got the phone call from the mechanic, I nearly had a full-on panic attack. The repairs would take more money than I had in my bank account, and my newly-attained first credit card has a super low limit. I had no choice but to call my daddy for help. This goes against every fiber of my very independent being. Don't get the wrong idea, I love my parents and I know that they would do anything for me, but I just wanted to be able to take care of things like a grown-up, and I know my parents don't have tons of money. Anyways, my dad was a superhero and took care of everything from the other side of the country. 

Meanwhile, I had gotten in contact with my Idaho sister. Plans were changed, and they came down to meet us in Utah, since there wasn't really a way for us to get there anymore. We left my car at the shop an hour north of home and had a very different adventure than the one planned. 

So it turned out that Thor needed a new engine. It took about two weeks for them to find a decent engine and replace it. I had my roommate take me up to where it was, and the mechanics took it on one last test run and discovered that the engine was no good. So they gave me a loaner car and we went back home.

Two more weeks and three engines later, I finally had Thor back in my hands. I still feel bad for the mechanics and all the frustration and bad engines they had to buy and put in and take out. Poor guys.

If you're familiar with the Marvel movie, there are parallels. Like how Thor thought he was invincible. Then he did something that was kind of dumb and was banished to a far away place and had to go through significant changes in order to come home. 

Although this certainly isn't what I or my bank account wanted, I learned a ton. First, know what your car is capable of and check the temperature gauge (everybody told me he was in great shape and would make it to Idaho. They didn't know there was a tiny crack in the engine block.). But even more importantly, I was able to draw a connection to the Atonement of Jesus Christ. I was able to experience what it is like to be in situation that you can't get out of on your own. I had no way of paying for what I'd done - for unknowing totaling my precious car - and couldn't even get home. I had to call on my father for help, knowing full well that it would take ages to be able to pay him back from my meager college student earnings, if he even let me pay him back in entirety. This situation reminds me of how we, as mortals, sometimes get ourselves into spiritual situations we can't get out of without our Savior's help. I know that if we call on Him, He can help us get back home to our Father and pay for our mistakes. And for that I am eternally grateful. 

Caught in a landslide

Lately, my roommate and I have been thinking about how to save the world.

Actually, we just want to help the refugees. But alas, here we are at college, and, let's face it, there aren't too many refugees running around campus. I haven't seen a single one! There are no camps, no apartments full of foreigners like I saw in Europe. We still want to help, even though we are poor college students stuck in the United States.

So we began to research. And research some more. Even during class (oops, did I just post that for the world to see?). And what have we found?

Nothing.

You either have to be there or have money to donate.

When we found out that the German ambassador was coming to our campus this week to give a little speech, we jumped on the opportunity. Germany has taken on over a million refugees in the past year, so we hoped the Honorable Peter Wittig could help us in our quest. When I got to ask him a question- you know this must be of great importance to me if I got up the nerve to talk to someone about it- this is what he said:
"There really isn't much you can do from over here. Mostly you can just be friends with refugees when you find one and help them integrate into American society so they don't make mini Syrian communities, which would isolate them."
K thanks for not really helping...

His wife was a little more helpful. She said that a lot of people offer language tutoring online to help with integration. Both my roommate and I are bilingual, so we thought this would be a great way to help from over here. Turns out, not so many people do that, especially as volunteers.

I cannot even put into words how frustrated we were about how little people, especially Americans, are doing about this crisis.

I had an idea yesterday while I was reading the Good Word. I am at a university where many people are bilingual. And if they aren't bilingual, they at least speak English, which is much more widespread among Europeans than Arabic. So why don't we set up a website where people can volunteer to help refugees learn whatever language they need via Skype? Once it's set up, we could get in contact with the refugees through city governments and schools. It's not a huge time or monetary commitment, but yet we can make a difference, even from the other side of the world. We can use our skills to bless all of God's children and make this difficult transition a tiny bit easier.

Who's with me?

PS. Here's the gem that started it all:
https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2016/04/refuge-from-the-storm?lang=eng

Nothing's gonna stop us now

Let's rewind eighteen months or so.

I entered the England Missionary Training Centre. It was a bit different than I expected, but then again, I didn't really know what to expect. I think the main thing that I learned in those short twelve days was that I had no idea what I was doing. That if any words came out of my mouth, they wouldn't be from me- not because I didn't know the doctrines that I would now be sharing with all sorts of people, but because I simply could not do it by myself. It was time to grow up and learn how to trust in God and that he would give me the words to say if I would just give Him the opportunity. In all reality, I didn't fully learn this lesson until much later. I'm still working on that, even though I am no longer a missionary with a tag. I've never been much of a talker, so it was really hard for me to be in a situation where I had to be ready to talk at all times. It was a struggle my whole mission!

Me and my awesome Swiss companion Sister Burri

It's difficult to say much about this experience. It's all kind of a blur. We spent our days learning about how to missionary (if that can be used as a verb) and practicing. All of us were excited to get out and be real missionaries, but probably not as excited as the missionaries next door, who had been there a month longer than us in order to learn some Deutsch. Well, I was quite nervous, actually. All my inadequacies came crashing down upon me. But never mind those- I had already signed up for this gig and I was going to be a real missionary. Bring it, world!

 I think I need to go back to England someday.

I'm still trying to remember things so I'll have more to say. Mostly I just remember sitting at a desk for far too long, goofing off in our 3.48 seconds of free time, awkward role-plays where we taught our teachers, and being slightly stressed about the newness of it all.

Oh, I guess there was that one time when Sis. Burri and I almost missed our flights to our missions. Sister Burri went to the Frankfurt Mission, so she took a different flight. Well, that was a funny morning. We had stayed up late on our last night getting everything all packed up. We had the alarm set for 3:45 or whenever we were supposed to get up for that ridiculously early flight to Munich, but this smartie forgot to turn the alarm on. The other sisters came and got us about ten minutes before we were supposed to be downstairs. By some miracle we made it! We were not about to miss our flights. 

All of us heading to the Alpine German Speaking Mission ran to the gate and made it. Barely. 

Yep, that sums up my MTC experience. What happened after that belongs in a new post. So, tschüss y'all. 

It's been such a long time

A year and a half.
A year and a half as a full-time missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

That sounds weird auf Englisch.

I've been back from my mission in southern Germany and Austria for a week or so now.

I won't try to summarize my whole mission in one post. As missionaries, we kind of joked that a mission is like a whole life squished into 18 months (or two years for the guys). The first area in which you serve is where you were "born," when you train other missionaries, they are your "children," and you "die" in your last area.  As you go through your service, you experience such highs and lows as you've never seen before, and they are somehow compacted. All the rules of time are broken, or so it seems. You get to know so many wonderful people and forge friendships that will last through eternity.

I can't believe it's over. It seems like it was just last month that I was packing my suitcase to go on this grand adventure, but irgendwie also a lifetime has come and gone.

I wouldn't trade it for the world.
It was the hardest thing I've ever done. Harder than leaving home for the first time for college, harder than moving to Germany to live with people I didn't know. But it was also the most beautiful, most rewarding thing I've ever done.

In the words of singer/songwriter Brendan James:
"Memories as sweet as these, you cannot take them, they belong to me"

I'll post more in the near future. Relive my life and share my few stories.

Now I say goodbye to you

I'm flying out to the Missionary Training Center in England in less than two days.

Am I nervous? No.
Stressed is much more accurate.

It doesn't help that much of today was spent buying last minute items. I realized it's kinda chilly over in England right now, so I had to get some tights. And then, when I went to put some things in my backpack for the flight, I discovered there was mold on it. Thank you, humidity, for killing my backpack. We've been through a lot together. I got it in tenth grade, and it's hauled not only high school binders and college textbooks, but it's helped me across the continent and the Atlantic several times.
Did you know it's really hard to find a decent backpack this time of year? I don't even want to talk about the several stores we had to go to in order to find one.

Guys, I have so much to do. I should not even be blogging. But somehow venting is calming me down. Yes, it is 2:00 AM. But it kinda just hit me how much I have to do TOMORROW.

At least my suitcase is packed.

I had planned to do much more last week, but then a man at church gave me a job for the week helping him organize and clean his home office/man cave.

Where did this month go? I had so many good intentions...

And my Darth Vader flash drive is still MIA. As are some other things. Bad things happen when I thoroughly clean my room.

I better get back to important things. Maybe even sleep. Hopefully some family member of mine will keep this blog up for me while I'm gone. Well, since missionaries are gradually gaining permission to blog and use Facebook, mission by mission, I might be on here sooner than later. Whatever. Until we meet again!

P.S. Here's the song for the title:

Nothing is real

Yesterday the strangest thing happened.
Not only did I go jogging, but my dad came with me. Both of us hate running with a fiery burning passion. We decided, though, last week that we should jog every other day. He's diabetic and so he should exercise, and I just want to lose weight. Like every other girl ever.

You may be thinking that this isn't so strange, BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE!

As we were getting ready to go, Kelsey, my littlest sister, asks if she can come along. I'm still in shock. She's in sixth grade and has to run a half a mile in PE almost every day. Every day she comes home all gross and sweaty and we ask her if she had to run. And every day she wrinkles up her nose and says yes. And now she wants to go running with us every night. I'm supremely weirded out. I tried to get her to run with me earlier this summer, since I knew she'd be in PE, but she backed out on me. Pansy.

I may be the world's worst at jogging, but I try. And now somehow this idea has caught a hold of the two other people in my family least likely to run. We're all horridly out of shape. Not fat, just not, well, trim. Just imagine the three of us stumbling down the road, gasping for air as if we had just been saved from drowning. If I had been a spectator, I would have just smiled at the pathetic effort.

Today, Kelsey and I were cleaning out the cabinet under the sink in our bathroom. You wouldn't believe the stuff we found down there... I digress. Anyways. She started asking me if we could go running. My mind is blown.
We'll see how long this trend lasts. I'll only be around for another 16 days, after all...

I also think it's ironic that earlier this summer, my headphones were broken and so jogging was even less fun. That was when I asked my sister to go jogging with me. Now that the headphones been replaced (thank goodness for warranties), I have jogging buddies.
That's life for ya.

It's all I can do to keep waiting for you

So ever since my date to report to the MTC was verschoben, I mean postponed, I've had to find stuff to fill my time. You're probably thinking I'm a pro at this by now, seeing as I've blogged about a couple of boring summers and managed to not go completely insane. There is a profound difference in my situation this time. I have no transportation. Ok, I have a bike, but to bike here is to risk being ran over by cars going about 50 mph (80 kph). Nope, we don't do sidewalks or bike paths. Super lame. Not that I'd have anywhere to go. All my friends now live at least 100 miles (160 km) away. Most of them live a couple thousand miles away.

Mondays or Tuesdays I take my dad to work so I can use his truck to buy groceries for the week.
I make dinner for the family several times a week, depending on mom's school schedule.
I help my sister with her math homework.
Once I even swept the garage.

I feel like I'm in Freaky Friday or something. I've turned into a stay-at-home mom without having kids.
I still wonder what stay-at-home moms do all day. I've wondered for years... Let's not get off on that tangent.

When the sister missionaries need me, I go out with them. I've gone finding/tracting, helped with lessons... I even went to a baptism last week. Maybe I'll blog about that later.

I try to prepare for my mission. I'm supposed to read the lessons in the Preach My Gospel missionary manual. It's slow work though, because once you read a section, there are a billion Bible and Book of Mormon verses to read, sometimes even whole chapters. I'm almost done with the first lesson.

I tried to do some genealogy. Those ancestors are trying very hard to stay in their hiding places deep within old record books.

My mom had me borrow dad's truck one day and go job hunting. That was pretty fruitless and frustrating. I almost had an interview at Kroger last week. It was a group interview, and as I was introducing myself to everybody, I mentioned that I would be serving a mission soon. The hiring guy then asked how soon and how long etc. and then said I should just leave. There would be no point in hiring me because by the time they trained me, I'd be gone. I'm just wondering how much training it takes to put groceries in a bag.

Too bad there's nothing more interesting to say. 22 days! AGAIN.