Life would be a lot easier if I wasn't a missionary.
Usually I consider myself a pretty optimistic person. Always finding something to laugh at or a reason to smile. Being sure to always write about the good stuff that happens in the mission. that's been going on for the past 10 months now.
I've decided it's time for a reality check.
The mission is not all fuzzy feelings, miracles, and baptisms. I believe every RM and devoted fan of "The Best Two Years" would agree with me in that statement. Far too often we tell those future missionaries, "Oh, the mission will be the best time of your life! It will be hard, but so fantastic!" Why don't we ever talk more about the hard parts? Why don't we talk about the rejection? Or mention all the tearful prayers in the bathroom so your companion doesn't hear? How about those ward members that think your inadequate, or being stood up for appointments. And then there are your investigators, who you've learned to love and worked so hard for, that tell you they don't want any more to deal with you. Why do we avoid mentioning these moments?
Others then say, "The missionaries have such a great portion of the Spirit with them." But forget to add how hard we have to wok to be worthy of that Spirit. I have never before been so self-conscious of my sins. Take away every little thing that could impede me from having the companionship of the Spirit. It's exhausting. "Should I have said something different?" "Is it bad that I'm slightly enjoying overhearing the neighbors playing Bruno Mars "Treasure". "I shouldn't talk so much to the members after church, we should go contact instead." "Am I praying right?" "Is this the right lesson to teach?" The list goes on and on. The call is to be a representative of Jesus Christ. The only perfect being to ever walk the earth. How easy it is to pose the question, "What more do I lack?"
And so, as I walk in the blistering sun, dust covering my aching feet as we walk away from the tenth "Soy catolica" of the day, don't be surprised when I say that often the thought comes into my mind, "Life would be a lot easier if I wasn't a missionary." But let me tell you, that thought is always quickly followed by another.
"His life could have been a lot easier too."
The Savior had a choice too. He had is agency.
He could have chosen another life. But He remembered His calling.
He was rejected, spit upon, laughed at, and scorned. Let's not
forget that at one point, after experiencing so much rejection, He even turned
to His apostles and asked them if they would leave Him too. And as for
being worthy of the Spirit, His whole life mission depended on it. Not
one single mistake could He make.
Yes, my life could be a lot easier if I wasn't on a mission.
It could be a lot easier to sit at home, eat cookies, and see what's new
on Pintrest.
The mission is hard, because His life was hard. The
only things we can expect from a mission are not soccer jerseys, foreign candy,
and a second language. If we plan on stepping in His shoes, picking up
His calling, and slapping His name on our chest every morning we better also
expect to experience a little of the emotional, physical, and spiritual turmoil
that He had to experience. It's not fun. It's not easy. But
it's love. Love for Him and what He did for you and every other person
that has and will ever live.
If I learned anything during my time in Jerusalem it's that
Christ was a lot more human than we think He was. He wasn't perfect
because He was naturally born that way. He had a choice. I have a
choice. There's a reason why we've chosen this path. It's hard.
But it's also the best thing worth doing in this life.
"Behold this is my work and my glory, to bring to past
the immortality and eternal life of man."
SHOE EXPLANATION:
After 10 months my shoes finally quit on me. They're
really great and help me with my flat feet so I did my best to try and save
them. First I attempted krazy glue but that didn't work. Next step was
the Plasti Loka that they use for patching up holes in the plumbing.
Thats what the green stuff is. To avoid the apearance of gum on my
shoe I decided to cover it up with good ole' sharpie. Today we headed
out and I was so sure that the Plasti loka would hold, but not five minutes of
walking and it ripped open again. It's hopeless.
For those who are unfamiliar with the term "elote"
let me enlighten you. I'm sure we are all great fans of the joyful movie
"Nacho Libre." If you are not, repent. In this knee
slapper of a film there are quite a few scenes in which Jack Black and his
sidekick are eating corn on a stick. That, my friends, is elote. I
have waited 10 months to finally try it, and last week it happened. Quite
literally it is boiled corn on a stick, covered in mayonnaise and chili.
It's actually pretty good. Mision Mexico Tijuana: Accomplished.
Something you can say about nearly every country except for
America is that they can dance well. Mexico is definitely one of those
countries and if you want to get a bunch of Mexican Elders trunky, just lock
them all together in a room playing really good dancing music. It was
hilarious for me to watch how, with every song played, they would
simultaneously cry out in desperation. I had to join them too. I've
never been a big fan of the classic stake dances of the U.S.. Pretty
boring in my opinion. Everyone either jumps up and down, or if the song
is slow, shuffle their weight from one foot to another in a very
Frankenstein-like manner. This disgust for the
"white-girl-dance" is what lead me to enroll in a dance class at
BYU. Now I'm finally in a country that likes to dance, and dance WELL,
and I can't even join in the fun. That is true torture. The bright
side of things is that now I have a handful of Mexican dance-tutors to choose
from for after the mish.
The next day, Monday, my actual birthday was quite simple
but delightful as well. After finishing our daily chores we had permission
to visit the Macro Plaza and roam about. Browsing the merchandise, but
typical Hna. Lance, never having enough guts to buy anything but food.
What can I say? You can never go wrong with food. 
