The Road to the MTC

I love this picture- wish Spence and Erin were in it, too.

Now, here we are, October, 2011.  My baby, the Gare-bear, is in the Missionary Training Center (MTC) where he will stay until he heads to Buenos Aires, Argentina, in December.  How did this happen?

When Garrett was a little boy he sang “I Hope they Call Me on a Mission” with the best of them.  We always assumed that he would go.  We were active members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, of course he would go.  It was an easy decision, a no-brainer. 

Then, suddenly, it was time to actually commit to going, to turn in the papers, to make the decision official.  And it wasn’t so easy.  Garrett wanted to know for himself that it was the right thing to do .  So he thought about it a lot, prayed about it a lot.  Waited a bit.  Did it again. 

We talked about it.  A lot.  With Garrett, I’ve learned that there is a line.  You push too hard, he pushes back.  It needs to be his decision.  Finally we all said, you know, maybe you just need to jump in, submit the papers, then see how you feel.  He decided to do it.  On his own timeline.  Because he was ready.

Once he did he felt good.  Right.  Scared a bit, too.  Sad about leaving us, and his girlfriend.  Nervous.  He got his call May 4, 2011.  He was going to Buenos Aires, Argentina.  He was thrilled.  It was EXACTLY where he wanted to go.  He felt sure that he had made the right decision. 

Time passed. He wasn’t leaving until October 19th.  Who had ever heard of a wait that long?  He turned in his papers at the end of March, and had expected to leave in weeks, a few months at the most.  We had heard of others who were leaving that fast.  But not Garrett.  So, he kept working, playing, hanging out with friends.  Getting closer and closer to his girlfriend.  He quit his restaurant job towards the end because he couldn’t stand it any more.  I was worried that he would sleep his life away and play too many hours of video games.  He did, for a while, then he decided that was stupid, and he started working out, doing things with me, playing with his brothers, bringing his friends around our house even more.  This time turned out to be a gift.  A gift to me.

The big day of Garrett's leap into a new part of life was approaching.  We planned his farewell- a celebration of Garrett and his desire to serve others and the Lord.  It was a wonderful event, a wonderful weekend (see previous post).  

The days ticked by.  We made lists of things he still needed to buy, needed to do.  We checked things off.  Bags were packed. It was time.


I was a little (well, more than a little) worried about Garrett going.  Was he going to be okay?  How would he handle the separation from his girlfriend?  Would she be okay?  How would he handle all of the rules?  Would they make him want to rebel?

Ah, parenting older children.  Full of lessons for the parents.  You just can't control, or fix, everything for your kids.  As much as you would give your life to do it.

His setting apart as a missionary was beautiful, amazing.  The blessing he was given was perfect, just what he needed.  Just what I needed. 

Garrett with his "last meal",
fittingly a Caesar Salad

The big day came.  We drove him to Provo.  Went to lunch.  He clowned around with his brothers, pulled faces for the camera.  We drove to the MTC.  He smilingly said he felt like he was going to throw up.  Said that maybe he needed another month.  Decided it wouldn’t make a difference, he was as ready as he could be.  Pulled up to our assigned spot, number 25.  A couple of elders helped him take out his luggage from the van.  They told me that Garrett was going to be okay, that this was a good place, that he was going to be well taken care of.  His friend (brother for the day) took a video of us saying goodbye.  We took a few pictures.  The whole thing took maybe three minutes.

We drove away, bawling.  Breathe, Janet.  I’ve said that a lot these past days.  The first few days after we left him at the MTC I felt weird- sad in spurts, anxious, emotionally worn out.  I'm doing better every day- less anxious.  More peaceful.  I've sent letters and a package- just some treats and little holiday things and such.  I want him to know that we love him, that we support him, that he is going to be okay.  More than okay.  He is, and is going to be, wonderful.

And so are we.