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Hellooooo, Everybody!

It's Monday. It's Monday, and I don't know what to do with my little non-missionary adult self yet. 

Open scene.

It's Wednesday. 

You trip out of the airplane, too excited to remember not to step on the hem of your skirt. You are, after all, still a missionary. You're still wearing a skirt. Right. 

You walk out and look for your companion in a momentary panic (where did she go? President is going to kill me!) before you realize that you're not actually a missionary for much longer; you flew home alone, and you don't have a companion to keep tabs on anymore. Right. 

You wonder whether you should text your family and let them know where you are. You realize you don't have a phone. You wonder why it doesn't bother you that you don't have a phone, then you remember! You were the designated driver the last two transfers, you companion always had the phone. Right. 

Carefully you proceed alone and without a phone into a crowd of strangers. They all had to pass airport security to get in here, right? They can't be that dangerous. You look both ways more carefully than you ever did when you were jay-walking in the streets of Baltimore. Oh, the irony. An airport in the Sunny Valley, more threatening than Baltimore? Yep, definitely pre-post-missionary confusion. 

Remember, you're still a missionary. It's not post-missionary confusion yet. 

You look past the tall guy with the flowery travel pillow around his neck and notice the signs pointing to the Celestial Kingdom? No, just the baggage claim. Sounds like heaven to me, heaven is wherever my family is. 

Note to self: you really need to sleep when you get home so that you can read words properly again. 

That flight was so long, but the flight was done in no time compared to the excruciatingly slow descent down the escalator. You see your family for a split second before they spot you. They spot you, and you quickly remember why you're the quietest one in your family. Your mom scoops you up almost before you get off of the escalator, who knows where your luggage went and who cares?! Hopefully one of your siblings took it, and not the guy with the flowery neck pillow.

There is a hurricane in the Salt Lake City Airport, and you are in the eye of it, the world moving so quickly around you that you can barely keep track of it all. You get the best hugs and you feel a pang that your dad isn't there to hug you too and you grin and laugh as your 6'1" little brother sweeps you clean off of your feet into a bear hug and you try to be happy that your little sister is taller than you (you are now the runt of the family), and you feel a crazy combination of elated, exhausted, ecstatic, and homesick, because your heart is held very much captive by the beautiful people at the departure end of that 747 you just disembarked. Home will never be just one place again.

One thing they don't tell you about is how tired you will be. Your legs tremble to support your weary frame as you embrace the last uncle. Your fingers fail to grasp strongly the hand of your stake president as he thanks you for your service and tells you to take off your name tag by midnight. 

Close scene.

I still feel like I'm walking in a dream.

I don't know that I have many helpful thoughts to share this week. 'Don't die' is always a worthy admonition! We'll go with that.

When I got home, I didn't know how to deal with life. Still don't. What I can't tell you could be formed into a list so exhaustive that I don't know anyone who would read it. 

What I can tell you is this, that God looks out for us and wants us to experience joy. 

General Conference was this weekend (#ldsconf), and I heard no more frequent message than "you are loved, it will all be okay," and "you can have joy in the now no matter how hard the now is."

Anyway, food for thought. It's a good day to be happy! (:

Love you all,

Naomi