I believe it’s time to stow this blog away, to tuck it in and let it rest. This was my blog to document all that was my mission–the good, the bad, the weekly letters. That time was wonderful and difficult, and I grew in immeasurable, learned to love a people so very far way, and ate things I will never again touch. I grew to love my Savior in a very personal way, understanding better the ways He walked this Earth, and has been the best thing I’ve done with my short life thus far.

I could be adding in mission stories in the future, but for now I’m going to return to my old blog, located here. Everything’s a bit rusty, but that appears to be the manner of this whole ‘Being Home,’ thing. Traumatic and unnecessary, if you ask me.


Easter Candy & Taylor Swift

I remain in the wallows of trying to vencer my quarter life crisis. I’ve been grappling with this state of discomfort and general confusion about life, you see. I’ve gone from a highly fulfilling–albeit ridiculously tiring and over-heated–mission to being furrowed in my below-zero room eating left over Easter candy. I’ve gone from feeling wonderfully fulfilled as a human being and messenger of God to being a strange twenty-one year old girl who has many hours to fill and few things to fill them with.

But mostly I walk around with an aching heart, missing. It’s hard to be happy with all the missing I have going on in me. I miss loving so many people, I miss helping so many people, I miss speaking Spanish, and, heaven help me, I miss the heat, but most off all, I miss knowing exactly what I should be doing–sharing the Gospel with whoever, wherever. And of course, there are other ways I can do that. Callings, personal efforts to share the gospel. But all will be a hollow echo of the name tag that one carries, of that joy you feel to be a servant of Christ in such an intimate, personal manner, one which I learned to love so very much in the selva de Peru.

When I was a child, I refused to play the left hand on the piano. It stretched my brain too much to be moving two hands at once, to strike out with all ten of my fingers and not just five. I was content to stick with the light notes of the melody whilst playing, to be comfortable and happy with what I knew. But then, in my last ward on the mission, the bishop forced me to play during sacrament meetings, and I finally learned, due to extreme discomfort and painful mistakes, to play the left hand. And the music was much richer for it– but of course it was. Because that’s how it was written. The deep and the light were written to complement and mix and wind through one another. They weren’t meant to be separate. Then I came home, and for some unfathomable reason, tried to go back to playing one hand, which was idiotic. My left hand already knew that it shouldn’t be slacking off, and that it had it’s part to do. The music was hollow and joyless, so I quickly went back to both hands.

And that’s the pain of my soul in these dreary spring days. I was playing on all hands, emotionally, physically, spiritually, intellectually. I was pushing with all I had, living many days in discomfort and making mistakes, but growing and living in a way so much richer. And now I’m back to only using one hand, and you can’t just ignore it. The empty notes are making a ruckus.

People keep asking me what my favorite things about being home is. I’m often left floundering. There were so many things that I thought I missed when I was down in Iquitos–fast food, movie theaters, sleeping in, lazing, making my own schedule–but now that all those things are in my grasp, I have no desire for them. The fruit’s not so forbidden anymore, and anyways, it was an empty, deceptive fruit, really.

I’m not really sure what it is God wants me to do to keep being a useful daughter, and figuring things out are a lot harder done than said, I just know I lack. I fault. And that’s not so very fun. In the mean time, my best coping method seems to be dancing to Taylor Swift when no one is looking. Whoops.

Amen and out.

I have about a month and two weeks to go.

Still utterly incompetent in the language.

But very much excited to love the people of Peru.

I talked to my cousin, Maurya, who served in NJ, for roughly six hours last night. About everything, but mostly about serving, and how much you love those you serve, and the wide ranges of faith and religion you come across.

Fact about Peru: Peru’s independence day is July 28, celebrating the separation from Spanish rule. Absolute independence was gained in 1824.

A General Sweep

This, as a whole post, is a general glazing over of things. Announcing and solidifying.

I, Melody Compton, have been called to serve in the Iquitos, Peru mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. I’m to report to the Lima, Peru MTC on the 8th of October. (I got my call about two months back or so.)

I’m aware that Iquitos is a new mission, set to open this month, so I’m having a hard time finding others who I’m going to be serving with. If you’re out there, hi! I have no idea what I’m doing! Let us commiserate in our confusion!

For now, this blog is to make possible connections with others. Later, if I can twist any arms into cooperation, it’ll be updated with letters I send back home.

Note: This is basically how I picture my mission thus far.

bucket clothes