My Time

So here I am, trying to think about what I'm going to say for my talk in church this Sunday. For all of you who don't know, I'm going to serve a mission in Guatemala for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints for two years. I'm super excited and super nervous and super scared all at the same time. I can't wait to go but I don't want to leave. I'm really not looking forward to saying goodbye to everything I know and have grown to love so much.

But anyways, back on topic... I'm leaving in two weeks and this Sunday I have been asked to give a talk in my church meeting. The topic: "How I have prepared to serve a mission and why missionary work is important."

Wait, what? Okay, I know what all of this means, but I have to talk about it? I do? ME? I shouldn't be going on a mission! I'm not old enough! I should be watching my brother go, watching him get ready, waiting for my turn to come! I've grown up knowing I'd be going on a mission, and I've been taught and told that my whole life! I've been raised singing the song "I Hope They Call Me On A Mission" in primary. I was told that throughout my whole life I should be preparing and getting ready to go to a different place, for me a different country, for two years! Two years!!

Despite these anxious feelings, I'm going. I've been called to serve. I've been waiting for these two years my whole life. Everything I've done has been in preparation for these two years. Every class I've taken and every person I've spoken to. Every mistake I've made and every obstacle I've triumphed. Somebody in Guatemala is waiting for me...

So here I go!

Michael, your time has come.

(wish me luck!!!)

An Ode to Lunch Break

My work... my job... not fun. I work at a pharmacy as a cashier/pharmacy clerk. So, basically, as a cashier, I stand there, bored out of my mind, hoping that somebody will come in and buy something. And as a pharmacy clerk, I stand there while old people who really need medicine tell me about how if they don't have the medicine they could go into withdrawals, go into a coma, and then die. 

I love it when they do that, because they are basically saying, "Here! I have my life in my hands and now I'm putting it on the counter in front of you. If you don't get my medicine right now, it's going to shrivel up like a raisin, turn dark blue and purple, and then implode. Thanks!!!!"

So, at around one or two o'clock every day, there is an hour. One hour. Only one. But it is the best hour of my day (except for the hour directly following closing time). This hour, this beloved God-sent hour, is lunch time.

So, here's to you, Lunch Hour. The happiness you bring to people's lives all across the world lights up our spirits, giving us the gusto we need to get throught the second dreadful half of the day. The food you put in our grumbling stomachs revives us from the long, tiresome work morning we were forced to endure only on the sad little bowl of Cap'n Crunch cereal.

To Lunch Hour!