besties for the resties

To say my second year at BYU is completely different from my first would be an understatement. My freshman year started as a big mess. From day one I struggled with roommates, the BYU social life, and school. I didn't make friends very quickly, I was introverted, and I found myself getting lost among the overly optimistic and outgoing crowd that BYU is. For the first few months I really questioned my decision to come to BYU, and I wasn't sure that I would come back. Looking back I realize that all those hard feelings I had towards this school were because of my own choices.  It wasn't until Mason came along that things began to change. It wasn't just the fact that he entered my life, it was the fact that he was finally able to crack my introverted shell and open me up. I know it wasn't easy for him, and I resisted every step of the way, but it wasn't until I began to open up and let people in that I began to love my experience at BYU.

This semester I don't have my saving grace here. Before he left he was so worried that I would revert back to my old ways of being in the library 24/7 and working myself to death.  He made sure I found good roommates to live with, and I will be forever grateful for this. I am living with some of the sweetest girls on BYU campus. They are genuinely the best people I know. It has been extremely difficult not having Mason here, but these girls have been a blessing. So basically this is a post telling you that my roommates are the best, and I am having such a good time at BYU. Life is good, and I am so grateful for the memories I have made thus far.

Called to Serve Him.

This past week was i.n.s.a.n.e. It was an absolute crazy mess, but it was perfect in every way. Let's go back to Tuesday afternoon.
After having my mission papers in for almost 6 weeks, I knew they would have to come sooner or later. I continued to ask my dad to check the status of my mission papers (perks of having your dad as a bishop), but Sunday I was bummed to find out again that they still had not assigned my call. However, Tuesday afternoon as I was struggling to study for my microbiology quiz, I got a text from my mom saying, "you better start checking your mail!"

"What."

"No."

"What do you mean?"

"Are you serious?"

"AHHHHHHH!"

Yeah. So much for studying.

I flipped out. My mind was racing 1000km/hr. What did this even mean? Could my call really come TOMORROW? To make a long story short: I checked the mail box more than I feel comfortable sharing, I could not focus on anything else, all hopes of being productive went out the window, but my call did not come on Wednesday. 

And then Thursday arrived.

I had heard rumour that mission calls typically arrived on Thursday, so I wasn't all that surprised when it didn't come in the mail on Wednesday. I woke up Thursday morning bright and early—usually I would be waking up bright and early, but I have ZERO classes on Thursday—so naturally I got up to sit at the kitchen table and wait for any signal that the mail man had arrived. 

bad idea.

I'm sure my roommates thought I was going crazy. I am not kidding. Every single little sound I heard that morning I would race to the door and peak down the stairs to the mail box, and every time it was the same thing. Nothing. It would have been much better had I had classes on Thursday. I needed something, anything, to take my mind off my mission call. 

Well....HOURS went by, and nothing came. 

My roommate Eliza had put her mission papers in 3 weeks after mine, so when I found out her call had arrived that day, I got even more discouraged—I was extremely excited for Eliza, but I can't deny the fact that my heart absolutely sunk the moment I found out. I decided I just needed to get out of the house, to do anything to get my mind off the situation.

I ended up going to campus where I met up with Jennifer. She knew I had been waiting all day to get my call and had finally given up hope. I was trying to be optimistic about the whole situation, but she knew how I was really feeling. On our way back to the apartment she said, "I think the mail came while you were gone."

Here we go again:

"No."

"No."

"I don't think so."

"No it didn't."

"No it didn't."

"No."

"I don't believe you."

She pulled out the mail key, and I proceeded to run to the mail box. Earlier in the day I had written a note on our mailbox that said: "dear mail man/woman, I would really appreciate if you had a mission call in your hands today. -love Michaela" When I reached the mail box the first thing I saw was a smiley face on the note I had left. I could not believe it. I was shaking and I felt like my stomach had dropped underneath me. When I opened up the box, there it was. Starring me in the face.

Within 20 min of getting my call, texting my brother, and informing my parents, I was sitting in a park on a beautiful sunny evening with my call ready to open. Rawley was sitting next to me, my parents and Jantz, Katie, Nixon and Benson were all ready on skype, and I was more than ready to open my call.

My shaky hands were finally able to open the envelope that read:

"Dear Sister Selk, you are hereby called as a missionary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. You are assigned to labor in the PORTUGAL LISBON MISSION."

I could not believe it. It wasn't real. Did they make a mistake, because I was pretty convinced I was going to a Canadian mission. After months of convincing myself I was going to stay in my home country of Canada, Portugal was a HUGE shock.

A little bit of background before I continue: In 2011, when I had the opportunity to go to Europe I fell in love with Spain. I loved the people, I loved the culture, I loved everything about Spain. It felt like it was a second home to me. Ever since then, if someone were to ask what my dream mission was, I would have to say Spain. But I knew I would never get called to Spain, because I was sure I would never be called to a Spanish speaking mission. I thought with my background in French, I would either speak French, or English; speaking any other language didn't even cross my mind.

So when I say I couldn't believe I had been called to Portugal, it wasn't because I really wanted to go to Canada and was disappointed, but I was just so incredibly overwhelmed that I was practically going to my dream mission. I would have been happy to serve in Canada, and I know I would have loved every second of it, but I am so incredibly grateful to have the opportunity to serve the people in Portugal. I really could not be happier. Every time I learn something new about Portugal I realize more and more how perfect this mission is for me. Everything about it gets me excited. 

So after weeks and weeks of waiting, I am so happy to finally announce that I get the opportunity to serve the people of Portugal, starting February 4th, 2015. I know this call was inspired. I know this call is exactly where I need to be. I know this church is true. I know my Saviour lives and knows me personally. And I can't wait to share what I know.

hola.

So Mexico was an absolute dream. I'm still wondering why I don't live somewhere with warm weather and an ocean. Take me back please. Going straight from Mexico to classes Wednesday morning was a harsh reality check. I went from sitting by the pool, drinking pina coladas every day to the constant grind of homework. It was nice while it lasted though. I loved being able to spend those last few days with my family. I love them to death, and they just made Mexico all that more wonderful. It was sad to say goodbye to the humid air and the spanish accents, but I'll be back. I'll definitely be back.

A loss of wisdom. teeth.

It's true, I lost my wisdom teeth. Nothing else exciting is happening, so why not blog about it?

Monday morning I drove into the big city with an empty stomach prepared for the surgery to be done.  Of course the prepping before the surgery is always the worst part and they attempted to give me and IV 3 times before one actually decided to behave. I now have an awesome bruise on my left hand, another bulging bruise on my right hand, and a nice mark on my arm. awesome.  But really I'm just being a baby because the procedure went as well as one can go after they finally got an IV in me.  I laid down on the operating table (which to my surprise was extremely comfortable—Bonus) and was out like a light as soon as they began to ask me if the medicine was working.  I remember waking up for the first time with the shakes! And I'm not just talking a little shiver. The bed was a rockin'. I don't remember much after that. I remember one of the assistants asking the nurse what they could give me to stop the shakes and the nurse responding with the word: DEMEROL. I have no idea how they got it in me, but I do remember the nurse saying he didn't like demerol and that he thought it was a dirty drug....and that just frankly didn't make me feel so good, so I'm sure I dosed unconscious again after that.  

They finally got tired of me and I was wheeled out to the car. I'm surprised my mom agreed to let me do this, but about 2 min. after being released I told her I was ready to go into chapters and shop.  We went in together, found the notebooks I wanted, and got out of there before I fell over. I'm sure I had gauze in my mouth, blood or saliva running down my face, and looked like an absolute zombie, but I was insistent. Never too drugged, too rough looking, or too ill feeling to go shopping! Lies. If I were in my right mind....I definitely would have passed on looking like that in public. Yuck.

The drugs must have done something to me because I was awake and ready to seize the day from there on out.  I was too antsy sitting at home on the couch with an icepack on my face, so I made my mom take a drive to Waterton with me that night to get ice cream and enjoy one of the few days left I have in this place.  There is no better place to be than Waterton on a summer night, with no wind, surrounded by the mountains. Pure bliss.

A Heritage Weekend

The second weekend in August is by far my favourite weekend of the summer. Also known as Heritage Days.  For some it is all about the events: the parade, fireworks etc., but Heritage days for my family is exactly what is sounds like—a celebration of our incredible heritage.  We get together as extended family and spend time with each other.  My Mom grew up in a family of 5 children, all of which live within 2 hours of each other.  Because of this our family has always been extremely close, and we love doing things with each other as often as we can. Twice a year—Boxing Day and this weekend—we make an extra effort to have as much of the family brought together as possible.  This year it was a blessing just to be together as our little family of 6.  With Rawley working in Utah, and Jantz and Katie having a family of their own, it has been a struggle to find time to be together.  Luckily, Rawley was able to get off work and join us (and even brought his girlfriend) along with over 30 others in our family. About half the family was still missing, but we still had a good time.  How lucky am I to have such an amazing family?  Like always, Heritage Days consisted of the parade (side note: the marching band was horrifically off tune this year...ha classy), a BBQ, slurpees, late night card games, and a visit to every single park in town.  I cannot express my love for my family. Gosh they are great.

Let's just take a moment to look at Jantz's face in this picture and Mike's fantastic fake out.

I died laughing. Hilarious.

Ida-who?

This past weekend my mom, Aunt Rita, best friend- L.E, and myself decided to pack up the highlander and get away for the weekend.  Because I have been working Monday-Saturday for the past month, we took advantage of the fact that I had both Friday and Saturday off.  It was a spontaneous trip.  We didn't plan what we were going to do or where we were going to be, all we knew was that we were headed down somewhere in the Montana/Idaho/Washington area.  Friday Morning we started our trip by driving over Logan's Pass. I have easily driven over Logan's pass 20 times, and it gets more beautiful every time. For anyone who has never experienced Logan's Pass or Glacier National Park I recommend getting in your vehicles now.  The usual 4 hour trip to Missoula took well over 6 hours due to construction, a car accident, and slow drivers, but eventually that's where we ended up for the night.  After some necessary shopping, we got our hotel room and were wiped from the long drive.

Fun Fact: Ellie and I are such good friends, we talk to each other in our sleep. Literally.

Saturday morning we woke up, got back in the vehicle and headed to Coeur D'Alene. Again, we didn't really know what we were going to do there, but we knew that it was hot and they had a lake to offer us.  I had never been to Coeur D'Alene, and let me tell you—I may have to take back some the nasty words I have said about Idaho.  Going back and forth from Alberta to Utah more than enough times, I have come to despise Idaho's barren lands and straight roads.  However, Northern Idaho is completely different.  It actually has trees! And it's green! We spent the day lounging on the beach, exploring downtown Coeur D'Alene, enjoying some good food, and looking at nice cars. When we got back to Missoula for the night there was a Celtic Festival going on downtown. Guys...This is why I love Missoula as much as I do.  A Celtic Festival?! So fun! We were surrounded by a bunch of beer drinkin, weed smokin, tree huggin, life lovin hippies, and I loved every minute of it! Such a fun weekend with some awesome people.

from Michaela on Vimeo.

Writing on Stone.

This week lasted for what seemed like months.  From arriving home from Utah on Monday, to saying the official goodbye to my boy on Tuesday, anticipating an email every hour of everyday, and all the emotions in between...it was like the week would never end.  It also didn't help that I had hoped to go camping with Jantz, Katie, and the boys on Friday night, but unfortunately I worked both Friday and Saturday night, so I didn't get out there until 10:30 on Saturday.  But you better believe I enjoyed the 5 hours of camping I did get to experience.

Nix and Benson were already asleep in the trailer by the time I arrived, but after talking around our makeshift campfire (A lantern stuck in the fire pit) for a few hours we were also ready to head to bed.  I crawled next to Nixon in the little trailer and soon got woken up by his body snuggled up next to mine, and him asking in the pitch dark, "is this kayla?" MELTED MY HEART! 

Ugh that boy!

We woke up the next morning and Jantz made all of us breakfast: Monkeybread in the dutch oven, roasted potatoes and bacon—not too shabby. We didn't want to waste anytime, so after cleaning up from breakfast we headed straight for the hoodoos.  There is no denying the little kid that comes out in me when I get in the hoodoos.  Rocks, and sand under my bare feet was the perfect therapy for my love sick soul.  Unfortunately, we didn't get to stay as long as I would have liked because we had get back to church, but it was just enough to help me appreciate my blessing in life and all the things I have to be grateful for in a difficult time.