I'm Not Serving a Full-time Mission

I've been trying to figure out how to say this, and I finally decided just to SAY it. A lot of you already know (some of you might've been surprised) that I'm not planning to serve a full-time mission. I adore this Gospel. I love and support those who do share it as full-time missionaries. And the decision of whether or not to dedicate 18 months of my life was NOT an easy one. It took prayer, priesthood blessings, tears, questions, and consideration. I just want to make absolutely clear a couple of things about those of us who do not serve as full-time missionaries:

-We are still missionaries. We made that covenant when we were baptized. Just because we don't wear name tags does not mean we don't love sharing the Gospel.

-It's not just because we're lazy or selfish. We work hard, too. We have jobs, school, families, church callings, and friends that all require our attention.

-It's okay to tell us that you're excited for YOUR mission, if you've chosen to serve one! We're excited for you, too!

-We have prayed. We have studied. We have received priesthood blessings. We have cried. We have worried. We have sought the advice of others. And we have received an answer.

-We appreciate the support we get from others. We need that support as much as anyone!

I decided to write up a blog post about this after stumbling across another's post about this same topic. That can be found here.

Why I'm Grateful for the Scariest Night of My Life

If you know me and you're reading this, you might have heard about my dad's recent stroke. This is something I haven't shared with very many people at all. You'll have to bear with me because this is a bit of a long story. But I think it's worth sharing.

I was out at college, living with a friend of mine while I wrapped up my last few days of work before returning home for the summer. She lived very close to two of my coworkers. I had only been to my coworkers' place two or three times before, and I didn't know the apartment number. So when I got locked out of Elizabeth's apartment, I was kinda bummed out. I had gotten off work early, and no one was home. Did I mention my phone was broken so I couldn't even call Elizabeth? I even tried opening the windows to her kitchen and living room. Luckily for me, either her neighbors didn't see me or they condone breaking and entering. (Kidding!)

So I walked over to my coworkers' complex. Like a lot of people, I have a somewhat photographic memory, so I was able to figure out which apartment was my friends'. I kind of looked at the number on the door, shrugged my shoulders, and went, "Hm. I hope this is the right one." I knocked and was relieved when my friend Eli answered. I was able to call Elizabeth with his phone and eventually someone came home and I was able to get in.

Remember that background information. It'll be important in a minute.