Au revoir mes amis!

I'm having difficulty finding the words to describe how I'm feeling right now.  But I'll try:

• Like I'm back in the 3rd grade, it's the last night of summer vacation and the first (daunting) day of school is tomorrow. I've checked and rechecked that my glue sticks, scissors, paper towels, crayons, and compass are in my brand new Lisa Frank backpack. My  first-day-of-school outfit (which I'm so excited to wear my mother had to fight me not to sleep in it) is laid out carefully on my desk. And there's no way in Georgia that I'm going to fall asleep tonight because my mind is racing. Frazzled. Ecstatic. Slightly queasy. Wondering who my classmates are going to be this year. Hoping Mrs. Locke is as nice as everyone says she is. Praying I can remember all the multiplication tables and cursive letters I've forgotten over the summer, that I raise my hand at the right times, that my teacher thinks I'm smart, that my classmates want to play with me at recess.  

• Like I'm 12 years old living in Hawaii. It's a gorgeous summer day and my family has decided to venture out to Hawaiian Waters Adventure Park. I'm covered head to toe in sticky, coconut scented, SPF 80 sunscreen. I'm standing in line to ride the Shaka, the second-most fearsome ride in the park. Thus far I was able to fanangle my way out riding any of the scary rides by keeping my brother distracted by the safe ones, like the lazy river and the wave pool. But eventually Michael, and admittedly I, became weary of the safe rides and had to move on to bigger and steeper territories.  Now I'm standing at the top of a giant staircase, only one person ahead of me in line. Soon I will take a seat in a garganutan inflatable raft and, with a swift kick from an over-eager waterpark employee, hurtle down a giant, slippery, plastic punch bowl. My heart is beating at  ten thousand beats per second and I'm desperately looking around to see if maybe it's not too late to walk back down the stairs. But the stairs are crowded with hundreds of impatient thrill seekers. There is only one way down.  I swallow a deep gulp of air and try to remind myself, I really do want to do this. It was me, after all, who got in this line in the first place. Me who handed my ticket to the ride operator at the bottom.  I try to gain confidence by thinking of my parents who will be waiting at the bottom for me, of my brother behind me in line who has reassured me several times that the ride was built by intelligent engineers and is safe.  With a scream, the person in front of me, now in the raft, drops out of view. I inch ahead in line, step to the edge, and try not to look down.  This is it. 

• Like it's September 27th and I'm reporting to the MTC in 6 days. 
•  Like I'm getting set apart as a missionary in 4 hours and it's my last night in Montana. 
• Like my dad, Amy, and I are driving to Utah tomorrow and I haven't even started packing yet. 
• Like tomorrow morning is the last time I'll get to enjoy the hilarious and spiritually-uplifting privilege of joining my brother for seminary and it'll be the last time I see him for 18 months.  
• Like I'm less than a week away from embarking on what will probably be one of the most incredible journeys of my life and will hopefully go on to bless not only my life, but the lives of many others as well. 
•  Like I've been dreaming of this milestone in my life since I was 13 years old, sitting in Beehives, listening to my YW's leader talk about her mission. 

This is it. It's the night before the big day and I can't sleep. I'm at the top of the stairs looking down. And with the help of the Lord, a good attitude, and hard work, this next 18 months is going to turn out just like the year of elementary school that ended up being my favorite and the intimidating ride at Hawaiian Waters I'll never forget.  There will be nerves, difficult tests, trying homework, unexpected bumps, and slippery slopes. At times I may trip on the playground, or it may even be a little bit nauseating and I may find myself wondering, "How did I end up here?" But it will also be a time of great joy, many miracles, laughs, new friends, and testimony-strengthening experiences. 

Friends, family, readers, 

I'll see you in 18 months! Keep reading my blog for updates, pictures, and excerpts from letters home posted by my dad and Amy.  And don't forget to write me!