Love and Memories

I have a million things I need to be doing...

But today's a dreary day, so it's hard to get a fire lit under me. And, at the same time, I really did accomplish a lot earlier.

Now, everything is quiet, and I've got some alone time... finally. How do parents manage to raise kids when they pretty much have to be around them all of the time? Granted, there's work and everything, but I still like to go home and have some quiet the unwind. At the same time, I think about spending time with my niece and nephew--even when I'm tired, they energize me if I just push thoughts of being tired out of my head.

We were talking about coming home from our missions today. I remember sitting on the plane... thinking that this was just a really long transfer. I remember my connecting flight, saying good-bye to the same elders I had flown out with almost two years earlier. I remember writing in my journal on the flight... I remember thinking about how much I had done--how much good I had done. I didn't want to let it go. I knew what I was, and I was aware of it as I wrote.

The promises I was so sure about came with their caveats, and I wanted so desperately to hold on to the good that I had developed within me.

The plane cleared out, people shuffled on with their lives, but mine seemed to pause, to take a deep breath... They always said that the airplane ride was sacred. It was the last sanctuary, and I wanted to hold onto it so badly. Then, I held my breath and stood up. I walked to the escalator; and, as it carried me down, I caught a gradually unfolding picture of my family, waiting there for me.

I was trying so desperately to hold on, not to give in, not to forget or forsake or disappoint.

I'm afraid I've done all of the above. I'm terrified to face my mission president. He had so much confidence in me. "You are at once humble and powerful," he told me. I always appreciated that. I've never felt like very much of either.

There's nothing predictable or structured about the path now. I can pass it off as normal for a little while longer, but there will come a time where I have to be honest about it.

I didn't mean for this post to be so melancholy. I was just thinking about how much I wanted things to be normal, how much I wanted to be like everyone else, how much I didn't want to let the Lord down.

But I stand by my assertion that the unknown path is an adventure in and of itself and that I have learned to appreciate the perspective I've been given.

Now, I'm going to figure out exactly what kind of foods I should make for a rainy day.