The Call

Last week was spent sleeping in till 10 or 11; eating scarcely, especially anything healthy; and incessantly checking the mail. It was possibly the most unproductive week I've had in a long time. Finally, after almost a full week of waiting, it came.
My mission call letter.
I made an odd combination of skipping and hurtling to the front door, closed it a little too excitedly, threw the other envelopes unceremoniously aside, and called my mom into the room. We called my sister on speaker phone.
I read aloud, covering the lines I wasn't reading with my hand, as I often do when I'm reading something and I don't want to spoil a surprise by glimpsing the next line prematurely: "Dear Sister Hinrichsen:
"You are hereby called to serve as a missionary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. You are assigned to labor in the Utah Provo Mission..."
The rest of the letter had to wait as we all began bubbling up giddy laughter. After a spell, I read through the letter and tore through the rest of the packet I had received, noting things that need to be done before I go.
I told friends who showed curiosity about the call.
Since then, I've heard many things about the Provo Mission and the people the First Presidency chooses to send there. But I don't care. I am worthy and I am serving because I have faith in Jesus Christ and faith must be acted on. Because there is a living, loving Heavenly Father and we-YOU!-are important to him; and I feel responsible for this knowledge that I have been blessed with. I've been told many times that I would be a great missionary, and I believed it until recently. I know now it's not about me being great at all; what I need is to be humble. But you can't consciously be humble. So I do the things I know to be good and push thoughts of myself away as often as I remember.
I'll know what kind of mission it is when I get there.