May 21, 2009. 7 A.M. I woke suddenly, blinking for a minute and trying to figure out why I was so nervous. Then I remembered. By the end of the day, I would have a black name tag and would be in the Missionary Training Center (MTC). I looked around the room, my mental checklist kicking into high gear.
The morning flew by. I took pictures with my family, finished the last final bit of packing up my dorm at BYU, and drove to the MTC. Almost before I knew it, I was hugging my parents and my brother and walking into the MTC in Provo, Utah to begin my eight-week training.
I was now Sister Voyles.
In many ways, the MTC is like a spiritual bootcamp. On a daily basis, we rose out of our twin bunk beds at 6:30 AM sharp. We had class, then went to breakfast and came back to our classroom, where we studied Spanish and the scriptures. We had breaks for personal study and language study. Lunch and dinner were always at the same time every day, and we had them with a big group of other missionaries. On Tuesdays and Sunday nights, we had devotionals. Devotionals at the MTC are like worship services with hundreds of missionaries attending in a huge auditorium.
Wednesday was our preparation day, during which we did laundry, emailed our families, and spent time in the little bookstore on campus. We went to the gym and played sports across the street from the MTC in the field. We went to the temple across the street once a week. Every Thursday morning we did service projects somewhere around the MTC. We also practiced our teaching through simulated investigator experiences. This regimented life gave me the most structure I had ever experienced.
I had joined God’s army.
Quarantine
Although I had two wonderful companeras (companions), a great district and great teachers, I initially struggled in the MTC. I’ve always been a rule-follower, but there were tons—and I mean tons—of rules. The hardest rule for me to follow was getting up at 6:30 AM. Ugh, it was so hard.
Also, getting used to the missionary way of life was hard. For weeks after I entered the MTC, I would reflexively pat my pocket, feeling for my cell phone, only to remember that I no longer had a cell phone or a pocket. I missed talking to my family and my friends. I missed setting my own schedule. I missed letting my mind wander. Basically, I missed my normal.
Then, a few weeks into my MTC stay, swine flu hit our district. You may not remember the swine flu epidemic, but at that time, it was a big deal. To keep the disease from spreading, one of my companions and I were sent to another building with a few other sisters where we were quarantined for a week.
For some reason, this was a turning point for me. The first day, I lay in bed, burning up with a fever, feeling sick and just plain sorry for myself. How would I learn Spanish? How could I miss a whole week of the MTC? Would missing that much time in the MTC make me a terrible missionary?
I woke the next day still sick, but well enough to function again. My companion and I read our scriptures, studied Spanish, and tried to recover. As night time approached, we prepared for bed early. For the first time, I felt the release of the stringent schedule and my own inner pressure to already be who I was becoming. As I knelt to pray that night, I felt the peace and joy from what I was doing seep into me. I decided for the rest of quarantine, I would focus on feeling the Spirit and being patient with myself. I would work at my own pace.
For the rest of the week, I slowed down and somehow that helped me to catch up.
For the first time, I looked past the rules and started to see the purpose. Maybe it was due to the concentrated daily scripture reading, and maybe it was due to having time to recenter myself and rediscover why I was there. I had caught the spirit of missionary work and was so excited to go back to my MTC classes.
Visitors in My Classes
I was cleared to leave quarantine several weeks before the end of my MTC stay. Back into my MTC classes, I settled into a routine and started loving my time there. I focused better during my scripture and language study time. When I received feedback for my teaching, I listened to it less defensively. I also felt it was easier to keep the rules, because I focused on trying to have the Spirit with me, and found that I needed to keep the rules in order to do that.
There were a few times during my last few weeks in the MTC when I noticed some observers in our classes. I remember one day in particular, during our teaching practice time, we taught one of them a discussion and got feedback. Another time, the observers taught the class and asked us questions and gave us feedback on our teaching. I had no idea who these people were—I was pretty sure they worked for the MTC, but that was all I knew.
Another time near the end of my time in the MTC, my companions and I were at a Sunday night devotional. The speaker for that devotional was Brother Steven B. Allen. He was the head of the missionary department, but I wasn’t totally sure what that meant. Toward the end of his talk, Brother Allen paused and said he had a question for some missionaries. I was half paying attention, expecting to either hear a generic question for all of us–something that would require us to raise our hands to answer. Instead he said, “I want all the missionaries going to the California, San Diego and Ecuador, Quito Missions to come forward.”
I froze. I hate walking in front of a group of people, and this was in front of all the missionaries in the MTC. A voice inside me said, “They won’t notice if you don’t go up.” I looked at my companions, and they both nudged me and whispered, “Go up there.” I stood and walked to the front of the auditorium. Hundreds of eyes were on me and the others who stood beside me on the stand. I wanted to hide. Brother Allen asked us to tell the audience what we would miss the most about home during our missions. One by one, each of us stepped up to the podium and spoke to the group briefly. I said I would miss my nieces and nephews the most. Then I walked off the stand and quickly rejoined my companions in the audience.
Unbeknownst to me, a recording of that devotional, along with notes taken by the observers in my classes, would be sent to my Mission President in San Diego. He would watch the tape and read the notes of all the “observers” who had visited our MTC classroom over the past few weeks.
Leaving for our separate mission fields
Finally, the day arrived for me to leave the MTC. At 4 AM on July 21, 2009, my companions and I boarded a bus full of other missionaries. When we reached the Salt Lake airport, I hugged my companions, and we separated to catch flights to our missions. I boarded a plane for San Diego, California.
I had no clue what was waiting for me there.
sistervoyles.com 