The Hardest Part

Many people who are familiar with LDS return missionaries are aware that when a missionary comes home, there is an adjustment that needs to be made and that it is rarely easy. For every missionary, there is a different adjustment phase. Here's my transitioning.

When I first came home, I - like many RMs - was on fire. I wanted to go and do things with meaning. I couldn't stand sitting around being idle. "Hanging out" was kind of seen as a form of cruel and unusual punishment. And you know what? It still kind of is. I have a hard time going places knowing that the purpose is to "hang out". So, no. I will not go to the dances, where I feel like my ears are going to implode with music I still haven't listened to even though I've been home for almost 3 months.

Not having a companion is surprisingly hard for me. Not that I particularly enjoyed the whole "sight and sound" thing, but I miss the constant support that my companions were on my mission. I often feel lost and when I have a problem, question, or just need someone to listen to an idea I don't know where to go. This is typically when I start to shut down socially and retreat into myself. I was blessed with very loving, patient and caring companions who not only listened to what was weighing me down, but forced it out of me. On a mission you have the time for that. I haven't found that time since being home, yet.

Maybe I'm just blaming all the build up of stress on adjusting. Maybe I'm just really tired of being tired. I thought I wasn't supposed to be so tired after being released? Maybe I feel like I'm going to go completely crazy if I don't tell someone what the heck is going on in my head. Maybe I really really really want to go out to the west so I can visit my friends from the mission that I love and miss so stinking much. Maybe I'm just really impatient. Maybe I just need someone to sit down and say "yeah. I'll listen to you. You're important to me." Maybe I'm just tired of being the one who reaches out.

The hardest part about being home has not been a lack of feeling the Spirit, feeling like I learned all these beautiful teaching skills for nothing or feeling like I no longer have a purpose. The hardest part for me is feeling completely and utterly alone in social life. I never thought this would be such a hard thing for me. I guess I learned the importance of socializing on my mission, now I just have to adapt that learning from "Hi, I'm Sister Davis" to "Hi, I'm Arletta"

I Like What I Like

For those of you who know me, you know that I am a person of many hobbies. I like to do things that I find interesting, fun, exciting, and relaxing. I really like hobbies. Maybe because I love doing things that other people love doing. There is a certain thrill and excitement that comes with being new and inexperienced. Then there is that profound feeling of success when one has reached a level of confidence in a field.

So, my hobbies:





Biking: I've enjoyed biking for a long time, but recently it has become a bit of an obsession (and my main source of transportation). I often find myself thinking about biking gear, stories I've heard about biking, that position that I applied for at the bike store down the street, and how great it would be to bike across the country.




Ted Talks: There is something about the community of Ted that always leaves me feeling more educated and well rounded than I was before I watched a specific Ted Talk. One of my recent favorites would be: Meg Washington. It's pretty amazing. I highly recommend it. (It's one of the shorter ones, so that's nice)




Ukulele: I LOVE the ukulele. Even more than I love biking... by at least a little... I am most definitely more proud of my ukulele than anything else. I made that thing, so I believe it is the most beautiful - in appearance and sound - ukulele ever created.


Guitar: Before I learned the uke, I learned to play the guitar. I still like to play the guitar, especially on more complicated songs, but it's just not as amazing to me as my little ukulele.


Art: Okay, this one comes with sub-levels:

- Drawing: Drawing and I have been good friends since I was a freshman in high school. It has allowed me to express what I really think and feel without having to say a word.

- Painting: Since I am very untrained in the world of painting, it is very rare for me to paint, but I use it when I am in need of a serious emotional release. I love being covered in paint.

- Ceramics: Clay and I have had a very on and off friendship, but since I am taking a ceramics class, I am more committed to making it work. We're actually getting along pretty well.

People Watching: This is a hobby that goes very well with art, especially drawing. I love sitting in a public place and just quickly capturing people and who they portray themselves to be.

Thinking: This goes well with just about all of my hobbies.





Archery: Like ceramics, I had a little bit of exposure to archery when I was younger and started picking it back up in my young adulthood. I should look for a place to practice in Orlando...



Writing: Every now and then I like to write, with the occasional blog post, poem, journal entry, short story. You know how it goes. I'm not very good at it, but I do enjoy it.

Reading: I haven't done much of this lately (besides studying) but I do thoroughly enjoy it. Any kind of book. Fiction, non-fiction... Anything well written.

That might be it. I believe it is incredibly important and powerful to find and do things that we enjoy. Everyone should have things they love to do.

Mission Memory - Trust

For those of you who don't know me very well may or may not be a little surprised to learn that I am a bit of a prankster. I couldn't get away with many pranks on the mission, but I would if I could. I was always a little afraid of pulling one on the companions that I trained, because they simply tell you that it is a no-no.

Until I was with my third companion and we were given this bag of chips.

Let me pause here. The night my new companion arrived in the mission field was the night before we knew we would be companions. All the new missionaries fly into Manchester and stay with the mission president and his wife and then they meet their trainers the next morning at transfer meeting. Except this particular group of missionaries was so large, they wouldn't all fit in the mission home, so my 2nd companion and I - in an area about 30 minutes from the mission home - went to pick up some sisters to stay the night with us.

My new companion - who didn't know she would be my new companion - was there. Her first impression of me? I'm a complete goofball. An accurate impression, I would say. She had her fair warning ahead of time.

Anyway. On the drive to our new area, I told her that I needed to trust her, and she needed to trust me in order for the companionship to work out. So, I told her that I was going to go ahead and treat her as she already earned my trust. And I believe that because we both started out with that knowledge that we needed to trust each other, we were able to work so well together for 6 months!

But before we were together for 6 months. In the very beginning, we were at a Branch function and as we were cleaning up, someone gave us these bags of chips. One was some tomato flavor and the other was chicken and waffle chips. I looked at the latter bag and decided to try one. My companion asked me what I thought and I could only describe it as a bouillon cube with syrup on it. It was gross.

A few minutes later I decided she should try one, too. But she didn't know I had come to that decision until I had a chip in my hand held up to her face and told her to "just trust me".  Her face as she hesitantly ate that chip was priceless! Then her face scrunched up and she asked me, "what IS this?" Her face displaying a look of almost betrayal.

Don't worry, we still trusted each other and I never tried to feed her anything nasty ever again. We gave the chips to the Elders, who were much more excited about the seasoning choice than we were, and we only spoke fondly of that experience ever since.

On Rainstorms

Biking home today, there was quite an ominous cloud overhead and I was leaving the campus I could see where the rain started. A lot of you have seen it, I'm sure. That stark line that is obviously wet, the little pitter-patters in the distance. The smell of lightning... Yeah. Now. Imagine having to bike - or even better, walk - into it. That feeling of dread, the bracing to get wet, turning down your head so you can maintain visibility and allow your helmet to keep most of the rain from hitting you in the eyeball.

Some people come prepared, some people don't. Living in Florida all my life, rain is nothing new. And the size and impact of the big rain doesn't surprise me, either. I'm used to it. I've been caught in the rain so many times, I can't even begin to count how often. But it's still unsettling, when biking right next to all these student drivers that are potentially distracted by either their phones or friends. I am very aware of the dangers of biking in the rain. It can be pretty scary.

Anyway, I had a purpose for talking about this, didn't I? Oh, yes. Storms. We all come across storms in our lives. Sometimes we're prepared for them, sometimes we're not. Sometimes we've been caught in the same kind of storm, no matter how big or small, it doesn't surprise us. Sometimes we wait it out in our house or under the awning of a building. Sometimes we tilt our head, square our shoulders and face what is right in front of us, because the only other option is to stop going where we are headed.

Today's storm was really short. Just a small cloud too heavy to pass without a little lightening (and lightning!) I was braced for a longer battle, it's true. Sometimes we don't have to fight very long. Sometimes, though, after we've shot through the spurt of rain, we have to keep on in some other, unexpected way. Like your shoulder, back and surprisingly ribs hurting from the awkward weight of your newly purchased textbooks.

Now, I suppose I should have a conclusion of some sort now, but I don't really like having conclusions, when I know that we all really come up with our own conclusions. So, have fun. Endure storms. Be prepared. Or not. It's all up to you.

Love you all!

The Journey Home

 
My group of missionaries headed home with President and Sister Stoker

The trip home was exciting. I spent 9 1/2 hours on 3 flights and in 4 different airports. I've decided that all airports are pretty much the same. 

When  I was in the airport in Charlotte, NC and I had a 2 hour layover and I passed a Jamba Juice. I thought, "Hey, Jamba Juice! Yes, please." After the sweet man who took my order and referred to me as "Ms. Sister Davis" recommended a smoothie to me, he kindly congratulated me on going home and I got my smoothie and left.

I was walking and didn't realize that my smoothie was dripping until I looked down.

Razzmatazz, meet white shirt.

Yeah. It was embarrassing. Luckily for me, though, I had an undershirt that was appropriate to wear, but the smoothie bled to that layer, too.

Then I realized that due to pure exhaustion that morning, I put my shirt on backwards. Yep. After fixing that I no longer had a stain on the front of my shirt. Talk about a tender mercy. 

Mission Memory 1

I know I haven't written anything on here since I left for my mission, and I'm not really interested in giving a travel log. I'm just going to continue posting random thoughts and feelings that I feel appropriate to be shared. They may or may not include my mission. This one is a mission memory.

One cold morning in January 2014, I was studying and at that time of my mission I was really struggling with forgiving someone who I felt had hurt me quite a lot. I wanted to move on and didn't really know how.

I felt exhausted with the weight of the issue, when this poem just flowed right out of me. I hope that others will find it helpful in resolving their own hurts and pains. Anyway. Here it is:

Sitting and thinking of things that are past
Wrongs and hurts and stings that did last
I have longed to know of what happened to be
Of the young man who once long ago hurt me
I have hoped that my savior he has come to find
As He asked me not to leave my brother behind
"But he hurt me," I would profusely reject
"His paid debt, I refuse to accept."
"Accept it or not," He calmly replied,
"But for him, too, my body had died
"Not forgiving him is not forgiving me
"I paid his price and have set him free."
My eyes were opened and my heart did fill
To the brim of the top and did threaten to spill
I will meet my brother, I know it is true,
Whether he asks it or not, I know what to do.
I have moved on and will freely forgive.
For our savior died that we both may live.
My dear brother who hurts, I hope you have seen
That through the Atonement, you can be made clean.
For us He died, this fact is well known,
And now He lives to call us His own.

The most incredible thing to me, as I read this poem, is remembering how much I learned as I wrote this. I am not a poet, but I know the Spirit taught me about the Atonement as I was writing this. I also learned that day what it felt like to be meek and watch the Spirit teach me very specifically what I needed to do to forgive. It was powerful. Once again, I hope those who read this will benefit from it and all will appreciate it.

One Week

You read that right. I have one week left.

I am freaking out just a little.

I just found out that my mission president and his wife have a blog... there goes any train of thought that I may have just had.

Back again.

Sort of.

I gave a talk today in Church, but not actually in the ward I go to. I gave it in my home ward. I'm actually pretty satisfied with the way it turned out. I got some pretty cool (and some pretty weird) compliments after the meeting was over. My favorite was from a man I've known most of my life, "I've heard farewell talks for the past 32 years, and yours is probably the best I've ever heard." That one seriously made my day. Another, from a woman I've also known most of my life, "You looked so pretty up there with your hair down." I smiled and told her that it gets hot, so I put my hair up after I was done talking. "I wasn't saying that you don't look pretty now, you just look prettier with your hair down." Thanks?

Anyway. Life has been crazy lately. Getting ready to fly out and teach people the gospel. I cannot express enough how incredibly excited I am to go, but this is one of those quiet moments where I start to think that I won't be ready in time. It's ridiculous, I know. I also that no matter how much I prepare, I will never be fully prepared.

8 days left. Let's do this.