THE BEST DAYS OF MY LIFE : Can't even name this post....it was that good.

I've been putting off blogging partly because my computer is old and partly because I now live with my blog's #1 fan aka my mother. However, I've found that pilfering through these pictures and talking about the wonderful experiences I had, helps me cope with the fact that I am living in a town that I have grown out of. So, these marvelous pictures come from September and October of 2012. First, I'm going to give a brief rundown of what led up to this adventure. If you don't feel like reading, skip to the pictures. This is, mostly, for me--the pictures I've seen.

Rewind to my last semester at BYU-Idaho. I was having the time of my life. I had good friends, great roommates, a perfect job, and the best classes I'd had thus far in my college career. I was happy--happier than I had been in a long time. One of the professors I TAed for that semester was this wonderfully sweet professor, Sister Romney. This conversation I had with her sums her up perfectly:

Me: I'm glad we could meet today. I want to be sure of what you'd like me to do for your classes.

SisRoms: I'm glad we could meet too. Are you hungry?

Me: No, thanks. So, with this assignment, I wasn't really sure how harsh I should grade them.

SisRoms: Do whatever you think is best, friend.

Me: Are you sure? I started grading them this way, but I'm not sure...

SisRoms: Lyndee, you REALLY are so beautiful. I hope you know that.

Seriously, every conversation with Sister Romney is this way. I'd leave a little unsure of what my job responsibilities were, but feeling great about myself. I adore her. ANYWAY, she was an adjunct faculty member, so the only reason she was allowed a TA was because she was one of the directors for the British Literary Tour. I'm not sure if she was a cheerleader in another life, but BOY HOWDY! was she for the Brit. Lit. Tour. She had me talked into going on that trip when she interviewed me for my TA job.

Enter back story: Almost anyone who knows me, knows that I was once denied entry to the UK when I was 19. It was a huge ordeal that involved a horrendous plane ride in which a man next to me kept barfing and wiping his barfy tongue off with a napkin, immigration officers elbow deep in my underwear for the whole airport to see, photo copies of my journal filed as evidence, lots and lots of weeping over many a germ-infested payphone, mugshots, fingerprints, sleeping behind bars, and a whole heap of soggy, English, vending machine, tuna sandwiches. It was traumatic, but I lived to tell the tale with only a red flag on my passport.

So, when I was accepted to the tour, I was ecstatic, but apprehensive. All the directors said something would work out. We'd figure it out and get me over there. They all offered help, but it was mostly up to me. They were all teaching classes and trying to prepare for a month with 50 other people in a foreign country; they had a lot on their plates.

Well, I graduated, moved in with my sister-in law, was hired by a temp. agency, and procrastinated. About a month before the departure date, I buckled down and tracked down an embassy in Phoenix. I found out I needed a visa and I applied for one. My temp. agency assigned me to a data entry job right around this time, and I was left alone in an office for 8 long hours a day. I don't want to sound dramatic or anything, but this was kind of a dark time for me. I had spent months and months preparing for this trip. I had payed $3700 towards the trip. I'd spent 5 months in a city that I vowed I'd never live in. And I'd prayed to God persistently for five months to please, PLEASE let this happen for me.

The week before the trip rolled around, and I still didn't have my visa. I started preparing myself for the worst. I was angry. I was angry that I had gone against my better judgement and signed up for this stupid trip. I was angry at every person who had encouraged me to do so. I was angry at my family because I knew I would never be able to live down having spent so much money on something they thought was frivolous and unimportant. And it scares me to say that I was angry with God for commanding me to pray while knowing it doesn't matter how much I pray, how much faith I have in my prayer. It only matters what He wants, so my prayers were selfish, and that made me more angry than anything. I knew I wasn't going to be able to go, so I started planning my escape route from Mesa. As it turned out, I didn't need one.

On Friday, 7 September 2012, my visa arrived in the mail. Two days before I needed to leave for Rexburg. Even now, I can't explain the dumbfounded joy I experienced at that moment. I called everyone that was affected by my travel arraignments, and the next day, I was in Mandy's car headed to Rexburg for the last time.

Every minute of this trip was healing for me--every single minute. Sister Romney said at the beginning of the trip that traveling allows us a chance to examine our troubles and struggles and leave them behind. This trip was that for me. I know every step that I took towards this trip was planned by God. It was an actual miracle. Take a look for yourself. I don't want to be rude or anything, but eat your damn heart out.