I Hope They Call Me on a Mission When I Have Lost All of My Hair!

Yesterday, November 1st, was the one-year anniversary of the end of the greatest experience of my life.  I spent Halloween in the mission home in Tokyo, Japan.  I woke up on the 1st a little later than usual.  After working non-stop for 25 months, I think I deserved it.  I ironed my white shirt, read my scriptures...it was the same start to the day, but would end much differently.  All the missionaries returning home had a big breakfast together.  I didn't eat much.  Didn't have much of an appetite.  We enjoyed each other's company so much, but we all knew what lay ahead of us.  With all our things packed into just 3 suitcases, we loaded into the van and headed to the airport shuttle.  On the shuttle, we talked of the wards we served with and the amazing things that happened to us.  Once in the airport, we rushed to rearrange our luggage to meet the weight requirements.  We go through security and immigration...and then it's just the 4 of us going back to Portland.  My ticket's burning in my pocket.  Its weight on my mind is overbearing...the day I dreaded forever had finally come.  We board the big plane and as we prepare for take-off, I find the seat next to me vacant.  A good thing, too because there was nothing that could have stopped the tears from flowing as we depart and Japan slowly creeps out of my view.  I lean forward in the seat as far as I can so I could see it just a little bit longer.  The couple in front of me watch various movies, but I have no interest in simple entertainment.  I can only think of the people I'm leaving behind in Japan.  I can only think of the experiences I had.  I spent the long, 9 hour flight back to America in tears and setting goals for my future.  We land in Portland and go through customs.  

"Do you have any food on you," they ask.

"No, sir!"

That's a lie.  

We walk through the airport, and then we say goodbye to one comrade at a fork in the path.  The three of us continue until we pass the others' terminal.  We say our goodbyes and I walk alone to my terminal to wait 4 hours for my flight back to Vegas.  Now I'm really glad I didn't tell them I had food on me.  I still can't sleep.  I read my scriptures, Preach My Gospel, write in my journal...do anything really.  Then I'm boarded on the plane and headed back to Las Vegas.  Is this real?  I'm not as eager to watch Portland slip from my view, though 2 years earlier, those same sights were the ones that preceded my exodus to Japan.  

"10 minutes to Las Vegas."

This is real!  My "home" comes into view.  I wasn't sure what to call it, because that sure wasn't where my heart was.  Desert was a scenery I hadn't seen for 2 years, and the expanse of Vegas was overwhelming.  I mosey through the airport, and find the escalator that will take me down to where my family is presumably waiting for me.  I pause.  Am I ready for this?  Is there a plane somewhere taking off to Japan that I could stow away on?  My time has come, and I know that.  Still, with hesitation, I step onto the escalator, and for the first time in hours, a familiar face slips into view...

This explains only the events that took place.  Yes, I cried.  A lot.  But I cannot possibly express the pain I felt leaving Japan.  However, I can say that pain was perfectly anti-parallel to the joy I felt while serving.  Being a missionary and preaching the gospel of Jesus Christ brought more happiness to my life than any experience as of yet.  As a missionary, I learned many lessons.  Most of them about myself.  I learned to see who I was in the eyes of others, but most importantly the kind of person I am in the eyes of the Lord.  I began to see much more clearly what he expected of me.  I fiercely studied humility and charity and sought tirelessly to acquire those attributes in myself.  I strove for quiet dignity, but respected authority.  Today, I am not the same man that stepped off the plane in Japan on December 21, 2011.  I changed as a missionary, and I wouldn't exchange that experience for anything.  I loved it so much, often I wonder how much longer I'll have to wait to serve as a senior missionary.  

The most important thing I learned as a missionary was things I already knew, but were strengthened.  I know that Jesus Christ is my savior, and that he loves every single person I spoke to, the ones that listened and didn't alike.  Through him, we can be perfect.  God and Jesus Christ appeared to Joseph Smith.  That kick-started the restoration of Jesus Christ's pure gospel.  The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints is run by Jesus Christ.  He enlists men like me to execute its purposes.  He gives us his power and grants us the authority as we use it properly.  I learned that I want to be with my family forever, and that, pending our obedience, we can be through that same power.  I learned that the Book of Mormon and Bible are God's words and teachings to us.  I learned to love reading the scriptures.  I learned what type of man God wanted me to be.  I learned Japanese, which has led to several opportunities for God to perpetually bless be for my service as a missionary.  

They limited me to 3 suitcases, but the experiences I had could not be contained in the largest suitcase in the world.  They made me list the items I'd be bringing back to America with me, but there was no space for the memories.  Even if there were, that form would have to be as long as my experience suitcase is large.  They asked me to put a price on the things I had with me, but there is no monetary value even close to how I prize the love and friendships I carried with me across the Pacific Ocean.