5. Today I didn't want school

I went to sleep at 12 am last night because I wanted to make sure I got enough sleep for school. When I woke up today I set the alarm for a half hour late. I decided to miss Spanish 345 because it incredibly bores me. Well, I realized I would be late to the next class, Spanish 322 so I didn't go. By the time the third class came, Spanish 415B came I was, like, "Whats the point now?"

Great day!

4. I just looove my mission!

Today, after nearly two years, I got to talk with my son! Elder Collin James Wilson is pretty much awesome! There's just nothing like the mission: the gospel, the friends from that country, and the companion friends! I can't compare it to anything else, it would not be realistic. Where else can you have a son so realistically and yet not literally? The mission is a time of education (spiritual, book, and streetwise) and preparation. Really, there is nothing like it.

Every day I am thankful for the time spent and the place I was sent to on my mission. COSTA RICA. I truly believe a mission gives a man a real view of his identity, potential, focus, and true happiness.

It changes you so much to make you unchangeable. I AM my mission!

I am so thankful for the trials, the happy moments (so many of them) and the people and what they taught me. It just has a way of making me happy!

3. A mother, only one.

I want to write about my mother. During my mission, she nearly died three times. She didn't even tell me about it in an effort to be a strong supportive mother to me. I would find out by other sources or by deducing it. In one of the letters she wrote me, the left half part of the letter was written higher then the other half-- she had lost her eyesight in one eye after a heart attack. When I was in my last six months, she went into a state of coma and was extremely near death. The doctor, I later found out, said it was beyond him how she managed to survive. Her last coma was a few days before I ended my mission and she was in the hospital as I was saying goodbye to my companions and mission president. My mom knew I was coming home so she forced herself to be better, and somehow came up with the courage and strength to get out of the hospital--to be fine for me, so that I would see her like she was before I left for my mission.

As I got out of the plane (when I arrived to the US), I saw my dad standing alone. I was happy to see him but worried for my mom. He told me she was in the van waiting for me. As I got to the van I saw a different person, physically, but the same loving mother. I never have received a hug like that.

As I mature more and more, I realize there is no love better, more sincere and more persevering than that of a mother. She felt her pain... and she felt mine because she loved me that much. I know that she felt the pains I felt on my mission as well as all the pains and joys I have ever felt. I know that she IS a great women, and a mother above all!

She died 37 days after I got home from my mission. She was 47 years old. That was enough for her to demonstrate her motherhood.

A mother, only one.

2. Dead cell = dead owner!

So last night I was getting ready to go watch a movie with some friends. There was going to be cute girl there so I thought I would shave at least. I knew my friend would be calling me when we was on his way so I figured I should take my phone in the restroom while I shaved so that I could answer when he called. I just placed the phone right next to the sink thinking nothing of it. So I started shaving and there I was thinking how smooth it was turning out. So I finished still thinking nothing of it. After a while, I started wondering why my friend wouldn't call. I figured it was fine, maybe he was just running late. Well, after I got tired of waiting I went back into the restroom and realized I had dropped a bunch of water on my phone from when I was washing away the shaving foam. I guess thats what happens when you leave your phone right next to the sink.

I used to hate phones. I didn't get my own phone until six months after the mission--because my dad forced me. But now, I realize that not having my cell is pretty depressing. No cute girl, no movie, no contact with anyone. I can't believe how dependent I've become of it.

And, since its the weekend, I have to remain cell-phone-less until Monday.

1. All in the intent of "finding my own voice".

Hahahaha! The title makes me laugh. My friends will now say I have blog like them. I can thank my English teacher, Steadman... or not. :) One of my classmates says I need to "liberate" myself with this blog. And that is what I am going to do. Speak what I want and how I want. So here I go!

This blog is not going to give me something I already have--a voice.

I would like to talk today about my dad. My life would be so unclear without him. He is the biggest blessing that I have. Today he proved so again. I have been having a very stressful week dealing with people who want me to "dumb it down". As one example, in my Translation class, my professor made us group into teams and do an exercise called "shadowing". It is an exercise meant to develop the ability to interpret quicker and more concisely. Your partner speaks in another language and then 10 seconds later you interpret his words into the other language. So my friend James and me got to practicing this. A few minutes later, my professor came to observe us and would just not stop criticizing me--and he didn't actually attentively here me before he did. From the second he got to us, he began telling me I was doing things wrong. He said I was interpreting too quickly--right, but too quickly. It bothered me because that's the point of the exercise. But silly me, I guess.

It was beyond me that my translation professor was criticizing my ability to interpret well as a bad thing. I spoke with him after class and asked him why he had done that.

This is what he told me, "You didn't do what I asked. I expected you to interpret like all the others but you didn't, you interpreted at an excelled ability and did more than expected. Juan, you may be talented, I guess. If you would have been humble and stuck to what I asked, I would have given you good comments."

Apparently, he wanted me to "dumb it down." It was beyond me how a professor prefers being acknowledged over helping ALL the students progress." Sadly, this story has repeated itself twice this week.

It has been making for a horrible week, so I called my dad tonight and spoke with him until about one am to understand why a professor would do that. He said, "son, there are many advantages to attending a religiously affiliated university, but there are also some disadvantages. One of those is that sometimes professors will not know where to mark the line between religion and education. Your professor would be better off being your bishop because he judged your humility--something completely irrelevant to the exercise--and not your intelligence or your desire to progress beyond the point you are currently in. But perhaps he wouldn't make a good bishop either because a bishop knows his ward is talented from before he meets them. Your professor 'guesses' you're talented." And then he asked me, "do you know who really is 'dumbing it down, son?" I knew then and there what he meant.

Before we ended our conversation, my day said, "Juan, the Lord knows the hearts of all His children. Just have your voice and let them have theirs."

Gracias, padre.