After opening the call - with everyone still in their pajamas...
My mission is ENORMOUS! I'm pointing about where Santiago is. My mission goes the farthest south of anyone in the family so far.
This is where it is on e the map, which dad now has hanging up in his office.
Dad read some passages from his mission journal from a time he went to Mendoza.
Joel made a yummy breakfast following the opening. Then everyone went to football practice, air shows, youth activities, and I made a million phone calls and sent a text to all 300 people in my phone book.
As all of you know, I have been waiting for my call for a LONG TIME. It had gotten to the point where I told people that I was convinced that the letter had either gotten lost in the mail, or that the MTC just didn't want me and a rejection letter was on its way. But finally one day I was at Art in the Park with some friends and I got a call from my bishop. He said, "Whitney, do you want some good news or do you want some good news?" My bishop has been almost as eager to get my call as I have been - mainly because I bug him so much about it and wanted everything to progress as quickly as humanly possible. He told me that the status online had changed from "Call ready to be assigned" to "Call sent 9-5-08." So, naturally, I hoped it would come the next day. Little did I know I would be waiting another week.
Day after day I would walk up the mailbox, religiously at noon and wait for the mailman to deliver everything except my call at 12:25pm. Missionaries in Boise and the surrounding area typically get their calls on Thursdays, so when the call didn't come on Monday or Tuesday, we figured Thursday would be the day, and we made the necessary preparations and aligned our schedules so that all of the in-town family could attend. Sadly, Thursday came and Thursday went. Still nothing. My bishop called me that evening and was kind of offended that he hadn't been notified of my mission location. When I informed him that it had not yet arrived, he sympathized with me and assured me that he would call the missionary department if the call failed to come the following day.
Friday morning came and I, as usual, put on my running shoes and ran to the mailbox. Disappointment met me again when I opened the green door to the mailbox. I called Mom and Dad and expressed my feeling similar to Lethe on "The Mailbox," always waiting for something to come, yet it never does. I called my bishop as well, and he said he would return my phone call as soon as he found out the reason for the delay. No more than 10 minutes later, my cell phone rang with the familiar tune that let me know it was my bishop calling. He informed me that the date online was misleading. "The call was assigned that day," he said, "but it wasn't actually mailed until Tuesday." That made me a little angry. Why would the missionary department mess with our minds in such a way? How cruel. Then he continued, "But would you like to know when you're leaving?" I said "Yes" with such intensity I wasn't sure he had heard. When I heard him say "December 3" it made everything seem real. I had a departure date. I was actually going. The next question he asked caught me by complete surprise, however. "Would you like to know where you're going?" It seemed unfair to Mom and Dad for them to not be there when I found out, and I kind of wasn't sure I wanted to find out, there, in the bathroom, all sweaty from running, all alone. Yet without thinking, and before I could stop myself, the words escaped my mouth. "YES?!" It was almost a question. Did I really want to know? Does it even matter? How could he be so calm? I was bursting inside. "Well, I don't know. She wouldn't tell me that." Ouch. I felt my heart sink. I felt that was cruel, and I told him so. Not so much because he built my hopes up and then crushed them, but more so because for a moment a actually thought that the missionary department would just tell him right out, as if it were similar to me getting assigned a military post.
That day, of course, we began the speculations. Dad thought (and he admitted that it was evil to think this way) that possibly my departure date was so far off so that I might have time to get a passport. Or, on the other hand, maybe just Montgomery, Alabama didn't need me until the first of the year. Who knew? But at least this rested my fears and gave me the assurance that a call was on its way!
Friday morning Dad called the post office at 8am and asked them if a big white envelope had arrived for "Sister Whitney Flake." The lady said she would keep an eye out for it. At 8:23am, she called back with the news. "Mr. Flake, your letter for Whitney is here, and there's one for you too!" Dad ran upstairs to my bedroom and woke me up. "IT'S HERE! IT'S HERE!" he was shouting. He immediately awoke everyone in the house, which this particular morning included Heather and Austin, and he quickly drove to the Horseshoe Bend Post Office, a few miles down the hill. I got up and put on some clothes and some makeup. I was one of the only ones to do so, due to the hour of morning, but I knew pictures would be taken of me and I don't have eyes without the help of some eyeliner and mascara. Dad got back just as Joel, Derek, and Austin returned from their morning football game (to which no one showed, canceling the event). Melanie soon followed with the carload of children. We all sat down, got the siblings on the phones who were away from home, and, well, the movie tells the rest.
I tore open the large envelope, paying no mind to how it was ripped. The actual call was a few pages back, so I found it and, of course, my eyes went immediately to the location. I was so excited with I saw the words "Argentina." Nothing else mattered at that moment. The Lord had called me the South America. Dad's old stomping ground, no less. I started at the salutation, "Dear Sister Flake, You are hereby called to serve as a missionary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. You are assigned to labor in the Argentina Mendoza Mission." The family went crazy. Screaming, clapping, cheering, congratulations, laughter. Solely sounds of joy and excitement were heard for the next few seconds. I continued reading. The letter was lengthy, but the family had requested I read it, so I complied. Immediately following my reading of the prophet's name, signifying the close of the letter, we opened the booklet also enclosed to see my boundaries. My mission covers three providences and borders Chile. Mendoza is literally directly across the Andes Mountains from Santiago. Dad was probably the most excited. Then Joel. They started spouting off all kinds of facts about South America and Argentina and Spanish-speaking missions. Joel was explaining how one-third of the South American missionaries in the Dennis Flake family have come from the Joel Flake family. Dad was telling me about his experiences in Mendoza, which were soon followed by his going and retrieving his mission journal. He read from it and expressed how cold it was and how the natives seemed inhuman. Pretty cool, Dad.
The hours following the opening were filled with many phone calls, much excitement, and included Joel and Dad making an elaborate breakfast for everyone. I scarfed some food down in between phone calls, and send a text to everyone I knew. Many of the people I called were still asleep, seeing as it was barely 9am and many of them are college students who value their Saturdays for sleeping purposes. But everyone was very excited. Some shocked, some not so shocked. But all elated.
I have done research since then, of course. I have already become a member of the mission website. I am going tomorrow to get my passport started, and to get a Spanish "Himnos." Mom says I'll need to brush up on my piano skills. Not many Argentinians can play apparently... Anyway, that's my story. Thanks for caring and thanks for all of the advice. I sat through my last temple prep class today and am planning on going through the temple as soon as possible. I just need to find a time to get my interviews. Much love to all. I'm sure I'll be talking to most of you a lot in the coming weeks. Be planning on my farewell to be just before Thanksgiving. Maybe everyone should plan on just coming for Thanksgiving and I'll work it out so at least ONE of my farewells is that weekend.
