A Happy Thought

During my college years, my roommates and I (in typical Mormon girl fashion) always had a huge map of the world hanging somewhere in our apartment. The map was dotted with smiley face stickers and little labels that began with the title, "Elder." Occasionally a "Sister" would show up too.

There was always a happy feeling hanging around that missionary map. It was a source of much conversation, many minutes of letter writing, and even several hours of silliness recorded onto cassette tapes. The map was an integral part of my college experience. It was a much loved symbol of friendship and faith.

Slowly, all of those Elders and Sisters trickled home. I married the "Elder Truman" that had been stuck to the Scandinavian region of our map. I'm not sure when the map finally came down, or who has it now (I think I do?), but it's demise was natural and normal.

I haven't really given it prolonged thought until tonight.

Tonight I was thinking about three of our Truman nephews that are in town for a basketball conference. And I was thinking about the baby boy I so often feel nudging my innards.

I readily admit that I have moments of terror at the thought of birthing a son. I've been so conditioned to a daughter. But this weekend's interaction with our siblings' sons has been like a soothing balm to my sometimes anxious soul. See, all of our nephews are just such good boys. When I think about them, I really feel thrilled about raising a son.

I mentioned my thoughts to Wes. He concurred and we repeated an oft-held conversation. A conversation that always includes phrases like: "I'm so grateful for both of our families!!" and "We're so lucky to both be the youngest - how awesome for our kids to grow up with such wonderful aunts, uncles, and cousins."

Tonight, though, there was a male slant to our conversation. We noted (with a little bit of dumbfounded awe) that my oldest living nephew will get a mission call next year. And we hypothetically concluded, after some calculations, that from now until our anticipated son turns 19, there won't ever be more than a few months without a nephew on a mission. Not to mention any of the nieces - or grandparents! - who decide to go!

Our conversation made me almost giddy with thoughts of Sunday letter writing sessions and with thoughts of another missionary map - one hanging, perhaps, over the bed of a growing boy. Our boy. A boy I so much hope will grow up learning, loving, and sharing the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Won't such a map, decorated every year with the faces and names of beloved, exemplary missionary relatives, be a beautiful backdrop to our lives?

I think it will be.