Saturday, December 14, 2013

Receiving the Call (Part 1): Waiting for Santa

It started off like any normal Friday morning. I went to work at 6:30 am to get the boys I nanny off to school and then came home to nap and wait. But unlike every morning, I knew my mission call was in the mail and that it could come today!

Instead of napping, I lay in total anticipation. It was only nine and I was so tired and the mail doesn't come until two pm and I knew if I could fall asleep I could wake up and it could be there. Then I laughed, because this was a feeling I had not felt in YEARS. I felt like a little kid on Christmas Eve, just waiting for the man with a large bag to drop off a package that may or may not hold everything that I had ever wanted. I was too excited to sleep because I was waiting for Santa.

I heard my Grandma call my name loudly a few hours later. My heart leaped from my chest! I didn't want to respond because what if it wasn't there? What if she was just calling me name to deliver bad news? I was mentally preparing for it not to be there, but I was hoping so hard that it would be there that I felt I would wish it to appear.

Then, a knock. A door slowly opens. My eyelids can no longer be forced shut.

A stack of letters, but no missionary package. My Grandma says, "Sorry. You package didn't come but you did get a letter from an Elder Baxter." I take my letter and almost open my grandma went to her room. But then, I realize it was a letter TO Alexander, not FROM him. I think, "Crap. I didn't get my package AND they left my letter."

I head downstairs to put my letter back in the mailbox and do some hard core disappointment eating. as I head back to my room and I see him, the man with the bag.


I gasped and hid from his view. I'm not sure why I hid, it's pretty ridiculous. But anyone in the house could hear me slam against the wall to get out of the mail mans sight.

He's just there because he saw he forgot my letter. I was sure. I mentally prepare: it isn't there, it isn't there.

I peak around the corner to watch our faithful mailman of four years or more leave our porch. Then, he's gone. 

I walk towards the door breathing heavily and open the door. 

In the mailbox is a larger white envelope.

I scream! I run around the house telling my grandparents! I call; I text! I laugh, because on the white envelope from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints the address line contains the words "Sister Marah Dawn Golding"

No comments:

Post a Comment