The Mish Story...Part 1

I had to write a personal narrative for my Biographical Writing class, and I thought I'd post it here...bit by bit. Here is part one:

THUMP. Darkness. THUMP. Body Freezing. THUMP. People everywhere. THUMP. No way out. THUMP. Tears streaming. THUMP. Sweat dripping. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. As I sat in the crowded room, random thoughts whizzed through my mind at a speed usually reserved for stealth fighter jets. The deafening throb in my ears from my frantically beating heart was sheer torture. I felt everything my brain was throwing at me with perfect awareness: the seemingly frigid air that engulfed my body; the sweat that beaded on my forehead then dripped down my face, mixing with the tears gushing from my eyes; the frantic, uncontrollable shaking in my arms and legs; but there was nothing I could do about it. I wasn’t in control of my own body, and except for occasionally being able to wipe the tears from my face (while trying to hide it), I could barely move my arms. I was having the most horrific experience life had ever dealt me. Little did I know, it was the first in a seemingly endless stream of debilitating panic attacks.

* * * * *

For my entire life, I had been looking forward and preparing to serve as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I listened to the Elders as they spoke in Church and anxiously awaited the day when I, too, could be one of those great men. In Sunday school as a young child, I fervently sang “I hope they call me on a mission, when I have grown a foot or two,” and I meant every word. A mission wasn’t just a rite of passage for me. It was a time when I would be able to strengthen my knowledge of God and His teachings, a time when I would be able to grow as I served my fellow man, and a time to prepare for the rest of my life. Throughout my childhood, my excitement only grew as I drew closer to the missionary age of nineteen. I spent countless hours devouring missionary preparation books, attending a “Mission Prep” class, and delving into the Scriptures, so I could learn more fully the principles in them. As a result of all this preparation, excitement filled every fiber of my being when the time came for me to serve. In fact, the four months between the day I received my mission call in that famous white envelope and the day I entered the MTC were the longest months of my life.

Like thousands of other nineteen-year-olds before me, I strode into the Provo LDS Missionary Training Center on July 18th with my head held high and a gleaming smile. I was filled with anticipation for the next two years in Norway, love for my Savior and new calling to serve Him, and a little apprehension for the unknown that lay ahead. The second my mom pinned the shiny black name tag on my lapel, I knew I had made it. “Eldste Alexander,” it read. “Jesu Kristi Kirke av Siste Dagers Hellige.” Those little name tags are known all around the world, and I had one with my name on it. Sure it was my name in a strange language, but it was my name nonetheless.

While sitting in a cavernous room with my family, waiting to say our final goodbyes, my frantically beating heart was hardly calmed by the slides on the screen informing us of trivia such as how many cows it takes to produce the milk used in the MTC cafeteria. My family and I sat in silence, and the only thing that interrupted that was my dad intermittently saying things like, “This is going to be such a good experience!” I was glad for these little interruptions; they helped to distract me from thoughts of family, friends, school, and everything else I was leaving behind.

After a rousing rendition of the hymn “Called to Serve” – seriously rousing; I don’t think I’d ever sung a hymn that fast before – the dreaded moment came. I squeezed my mom, dad and brother tighter than I ever had before, for this was to be the last time I hugged them in two long years. Tears were in our eyes, but they were happy tears. I was truly doing what the Lord wanted me to do. My parents exited out one door, and I another. I glanced over my shoulder for one last look, but it was too late; my family had gone, and it was just me and the Lord. On my way out of that solemn room plagued with tears and lingering goodbyes, I caught sight of an old high school buddy. 

“Jake...er...I mean...Elder Cable! Wait up!” I shouted down the hall. Every single one of us was headed in the same direction – like a herd of cattle being driven across the prairie. Elder Cable and I followed the hoards of missionaries ahead of us to be oriented with the MTC Campus. Though we were separated at our first stop, it was a great sense of relief to spend even a little more time with a familiar face. After I had a couple extra vaccinations (the remnants of which stayed in my arm in the form of a painful, racquetball-sized lump for days), I headed to my room to settle in. During the couple of hours before my roommates arrived, I placed my clothes in their proper place; made my bed to the strict missionary standards (not a wrinkle in sight); and organized my bookshelf alphabetically according to title, re-organized it according to author, and re-organized it again from largest book to smallest. The rest of that first day is nothing but a blur to me now. All I remember is something to do with a caffeine-free Dr. Pepper and a Lunchable out of the bookstore, getting lost in the maze of buildings around the campus, and a relentless array of introductory meetings.  What happened the next day, however, brought an end to my world as I knew it.

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

Nothing on earth can match the experience of reading a new book. That signature smell of a paperback wafts through the air and fills the room as the pages are thumbed through for the first time. The feel of the spine cracking ever-so-slightly as the book is opened wide enough to read sends shivers down the spine. The fibrous beige paper accentuates embossed letters that flow from cover to cover. Best of all, devouring books brings journeys from around the globe and throughout time to a living room sofa or the desk in a study.

My latest adventure in reading has brought me to a book that I never would have read had it not been for one of my classes. Maya Angelou's autobiography I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings has been excursion for me back to when the prejudiced South was filled with misconceptions and demoralizing actions. Angelou's book has brought me a new perspective on a topic that I knew only a little about. She writes with such astonishing detail that I can hear the creaking in the rickety church benches, taste the salty home-cured ham, and feel the angst Maya herself felt as a young girl. She brings such great insight to the prejudice from which our nation once suffered and, in some areas, still suffers from today.

Tomorrow, a historic event is in store for the United States of America. In just over nine hours, the nation's first black President will recite the Oath of Office, ushering in a new era. The bigotry of the past has been all but eradicated thanks to great men and women who lost their lives in pursuit of basic civil rights. Our nation has seen its share of people being martyred for what they believe. The puritans sacrificed what was left of their lives to practice freedom of religion in the "New World, and our nation's fathers sacrificed everything during the revolutionary civil wars, so we can experience the freedoms we appreciate today. Noble people like Martin Luther King, Jr. spoke out when injustice was rampant in the mid Twentieth Century. Tomorrow shows a culmination of these events, and, hopefully, a new beginning of events to come.

Now, I don't pretend to believe in everything that Barrack Obama stands for—in fact, much that he believes in I see as utterly wrong—but I wish him all the strength in the world. Obama is about to undertake one of the most difficult jobs in the world, and I wouldn't wish that on anyone I love. I do hope, however, that as the nation sees that we're over the period of hatred to those with a different skin color, they will begin to realize the importance of why the nation was founded in the first place: freedom of religion. The First Amendment to the United States Constitution states, "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof." Recently, however, lawmakers have seen it necessary to neglect this sentence in the constitution by ignoring the constitutional rights of religious institutions. A church in New Jersey has been forced into a lawsuit because they refused to allow a homosexual wedding on their property. The Ocean Grove Camp Meeting Association, a Methodist organization, has lost part of its tax-exempt status because of the lawsuit. Apparently, the New Jersey Supreme Court doesn't find itself in need of following the laws set forth in the US Constitution. Churches far and wide, especially the LDS Church, are being persecuted because of their stance on same-sex marriage, and it's time that is stopped. Churches have the right to believe what they want and support those beliefs in legal manners that they deem necessary. It says so in the very constitution that allows you and I to live the free life that we do. Future President Obama, I sincerely urge you to make it a point to defend our religious rights. Our forefathers gave their lives to support these rights, and the forefathers of black people around America gave their lives so that you can now be President. Please respect these martyrs and protect our constitutionally promised right to exercise our religious beliefs.

More things that make you say hmm...

Today I've got a couple of things that make me go hmm... First of all, I almost made a fool out of myself during my night class tonight. It's a three-hour class, so there was a ten minute break. During this break, I thought I'd check some email, read some news, and do a little surfing. Here's what I found. It's a story of terror. Mostly because I've eaten at the very restaurant where the incident happened, but also because I'm terrified that some people are either so lucky or so stupid. If you didn't click on the link, a man was eating at a Carl's Junior restaurant and he decided he needed to relieve himself. Our man headed to the restroom where, while he was sitting on the toilet, his concealed handgun went off, shooting a bullet directly at the toilet bowl. The bullet shattered the bowl, and a piece of fiberglass flew off of the toilet and directly at his elbow where it cut the man. First of all, how stupid does a man have to be to keep a gun in his pocket without the safety on? And how is it that the man was so lucky that the gun wasn't pointing at him (possibly leaving him unable to have any more children ever), but he walked away with a cut and a possible STD in his elbow (after all, who knows what's on that toilet)?

In other, more disturbing news, three children were taken out of their home in New Jersey – no surprise, I know, it is Jersey. However, the young boy was named Adolf Hitler and his sisters were named other Nazi-related names. The child protective services in New Jersey decided that naming a child Adolf Hitler could be considered child abuse and therefore removed he and his sisters from the home. How seriously stupid do you have to be to name your child after the führer himself? That kid really has no future ahead of him if he keeps that name! Okay that is all...have a lovely evening!

Things that make you go "Hmm...."

So...I've been putting off writing this post for quite some time now. I can't remember where I got the title for it, but here are some of the things that make me go, "Hmm..." (kind of like the baby in the picture is doing). There are so many people, places, and Ideas out there that make me go "Hmm..." so I hope you can get a little fun out of them. Here's my first in my Hmm Series.

I headed over to Delta.com the other day to check on my flight to San Diego in a couple of weeks, and I found out they had changed the flight just a little bit. The times were all the same, so that wasn't a big problem...Delta just decided to change the flight to one of the CRJ-100 Jets that Skywest flies for them as Delta Connection. Now, if any of you have ever flown in one of these "commuter jets," you'll know that they're a little smaller than your typical 

school's "short bus" and have significantly less comfort. A flashback immediately appeared in my mind. About a year ago, 

I flew to San Jose on one of the little jets, and I was stuck to a man that was...a little larger...aw heck. He was huge. I, of course, requested the window seat because I like to look out the window as I fly, but I had no idea this man would be sitting next to me and impede on...no...pop my personal bubble for the duration of the flight. But it gets worse. We flew out in one of the biggest snow storms of the year, which meant our plane had to be de-iced. We waited on the tarmac for over an hour in line for the de-icing pad. Meanwhile, my seat companion sweated profusely (they turned the air off to conserve fuel), kept adjusting his position in his seat (giving me an inevitable elbow), and constantly cough (not politely into the aisle...directly into my face). I am an airplane lover, but NEVER was I happier to get off of a plane than on that day. 

Well...when I discovered this new plane assignment, it got me thinking. Do you know those little cage-looking things the airlines have placed at the check-in counter so you know your carry-ons are the right size? I've decided I'm going to create some kind of airplane seat-sized judging device. If the gate-agent sees that a passenger is "of size" and won't fit into the model, he or she will simply have to say, "Your side fat rolls exceed the maximum carry-on size, so you can either buy the empty seat next to you, or pay to be upgraded to first class where they will help make your troubles go away with unlimited alcoholic beverages and exorbitant foods." Though the passenger may be a little put-out, the airline will make a bigger profit from fewer passengers, those of us who have the sense to have our weight at least semi-under control will be much more comfortable, and maybe they'll just get the hint and lose a few pounds before the next flight. What do you think?