Lengthening My Shuffle

In the early morning quiet of my home, I said good-bye to my shower, my mattress and pillow, my daughter and my six-week-old granddaughter, Tabitha. Shortly thereafter, I said good-bye to my Denali (soon to be remodeled and christened The Daddywagon), my son and my eighteen-month-old grandson, Dallin. Jessie and I talked briefly on the phone. I entered the MTC, put on my missionary tag, and began my mission in earnest.

Life at the MTC is like college, only the dorm rooms are smaller—way smaller. I think they were built with two tall, slender male missionaries in mind, not two matronly (if still amazingly attractive despite it all) senior sisters. My suspicions were confirmed when we were told that a new senior MTC building is on the drawing board. It will be able to accommodate many more senior missionaries (and will probably accommodate our larger size as well).

My companion, Sr. Byrne, is from South Texas and will be serving as a proselyting missionary in the Argentina Resistencia Mission (my son Chris’s mission). She patiently showed me the ropes since she’s been here since Saturday, hanging out until the rest of us got here. “Where do I put these big suitcases?” I asked her. “Under your bed,” came her direct response. Duh.

Lunch at the cafeteria was interesting. I looked for a salad bar, possibly not hard enough since the cafeteria is positively cavernous. I’m not sure how many people they feed in a day, but there’s a rule that the senior missionaries get to go to the head of the line. While that’s certainly a level of etiquette that’s completely disappeared in this day and age, the possible real reason for the rule is the senior missionaries would probably be trampled as the hungry elders descend like the proverbial swarm of locusts on the food-bearing areas.

Anyway, back to the salad bar. I didn’t find one. Everything seemed to be pre-pared. So I gamed the system by ordering a wrap, which is individually prepared to order, including dressing. When I sat down, I took the tortilla off and had a delicious, made-to-order salad. I seated myself across from an elder and said to him, pleasantly, “Good morning.” He looked at his watch and said, with a scowl, “It’s not morning. It’s afternoon.” I asked him if he was really going to bust me on a technicality, and then listened while he complained that the food was awful. He said only the healthy stuff tasted like real food. He didn’t explain why he had opted for what looked like a chicken burger and curly fries. I asked him where he was going, mostly to 1) make sure it wasn’t Quito, and 2) issue a warning to the folks upon which he will descend. Given the public nature of this blog, I’ll simply say it’s in the northeastern United States. I think he’ll have a rough time of it until his attitude gets adjusted.

We received a medical orientation that would curl your toes. But it centered on prevention (for all my quality improvement process buddies out there), which I appreciate. I’d rather prevent than vent, if you know what I mean.

We got to introduce ourselves to each other. There are about 70 senior missionaries in our group, going to every imaginable place in the world, including Armenia, Sierra Leone and Myanmar. Our mission president, President Boone, estimated that assuming an average age of 60, we represented 4,260 years of experience. He then kindly pointed out placed end-to-end, our years of experience would extend back to somewhere around the Flood. That was when he told us that when President Hinckley admonished us to “Lengthen Our Stride,” the seniors modified that to “Lengthen Our Shuffle.”

I must say, it’s a fairly vigorous shuffle. Sr. Byrne and I were exhausted by the end of the day, and we still had about 50 pages to read in preparation for tomorrow. Plus I’m behind on my Spanish homework. And I HAD to write this blog entry.

They feed us well, both physically and spiritually. Our group is small enough that I think we’ll get to know each other a little bit before we go our separate ways. And I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to have a be-suited young man hold the door open for you, while his companion races to the top of the steps to hold the next door open. Sr. Byrne said two missionaries squabbled over who would get to clear her lunch tray for her over the weekend. This is a special place, and I’m grateful to be here.

Class starts at 8:00 in the morning and we’ll go until 8:30 tomorrow night with various activities.

Thanks again, to each of you. I love you; I miss you. I am well. I pray that you are too.