Transfers

Every six weeks, I experience 45 seconds of sheer horror.

The phone call is short, but the outcomes are significant. The district leader calls and tells you whether you stay or whether you go.

The answer this week was "go."

Go away from Lawton, from your favorite area. From braille Book of Mormons and that darling family of three little girls. From Lawton where the members love you and the fields smell good and people at doors are almost always nice.

Go to Moore, to the heartland of the recent tornado devastation. To Moore, where the Mission President and the Assistants to the President dwell. To Moore, where you might have a bike instead of a car.

So I cried at first. We both did. Sister Howard and I sobbed the loud messy sobs that shouldn't be had in public. But then I was grateful.

I couldn't stop thinking about it. Sleep fled because there were too many blessings to count, and they're not as calming as counting sheep. Finally at midnight I woke Sister Howard up (she wasn't sleeping either) and we wrapped up in blankets and ate cold cereal in the living room. We sat and talked about how much God has blessed us, and then I went to bed.

And now I am happy and well-rested and ready for an adventure.

This is transfers.