I would never be able to fully recollect the events of the first day in the MTC. The entire day was enshrouded in a haze of fear and uncertainty. The new missionaries, only moments ago severed from our families, traveled through labyrinthine halls, getting room assignments, meal cards, immunization forms, and other necessities for our MTC stay. Everybody was nervous, though some were more so than others and some attempted to disguise their nervousness with obnoxious false confidence. I overheard one new missionary telling another that he had just come from the Air Force Academy, so this whole mission thing was going to be a walk in the park. That experience ranks among the top ten times where I’ve wanted to punch someone in the face.
Somehow I found my way to my room, where I found my companion waiting. Elder Smith came from a town fifteen miles south of my hometown in Idaho. He was studying music. We chatted a little before the full truth of where we were sank in: our families were gone for two years, we didn’t know a soul, and we had been thrust into a world that, frankly, made me want to pee my pants.
That night, after unpacking, we joined the rest of our district — a small group of missionaries speaking the same mission language — for instruction. Our teachers, recently returned missionaries, introduced themselves. I don’t remember a word either of them said, except maybe their names. They may have explained some MTC rules — there was no leaving the MTC, since the Church was now in charge of our welfare. High fences guarded the MTC complex. There was no be no post accepted from anyone except through proper channels, for fear of bombs or something. While I was there, some girl tried to toss her boyfriend a package over the fence as he was playing volleyball on recreation time. I can’t remember exactly what happened, but I’ve always imagined white-shirted MTC commandos swooping from helicopters to retrieve the contraband. I know, at least, that the missionary wasn’t able to get the present until it went through the Postal Service.
I’ll admit that as I lay in my bunkbed that night, I cried a little. What had I gotten myself into?
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