A year, really?
Someone this week asked me how long I've been back.
"A couple months", I
replied.
Only today did it hit me that I'm one of
those guys I would stare at my freshman semester and think, "wow, you guys
are old."
If you ever read my emails (or this blog
my mom kept up for me) you would know how much I truly loved my mission, and
how I loved to complain about it--the different food, language, and lack of any
living creation besides humans, dogs, fleas, and spiders.
Despite all the bad, I was torn to
leave. I had invested my whole soul to a people and land I never knew I could
love so much. But there was also my family, my friends, and... In-n-Out burger
to go home to.
I remember that moment as I dropped my
suitcase, ran towards my mom, seeing only the inside of her shoulder soon to be drenched in tears, with my dad and an excited group of family and friends smiling
not too far beyond. Banners and signs flurried about. The moment I had been
dreaming for all those long, hot days was here, and I was happy about it.
Then came the crucial moment of the
release, the moment your precious name tag is removed. After all the emotional
proceedings of the day, I thought this would be easier. Surprisingly, it was
the hardest moment of the whole mission.
It happens all so fast. Mom places her hand on my tag ready to
rip it off. I tell her to stop. The final seconds of the longest journey of my
life is coming to a close. An unexpected flood of tears cascades down my face,
some dropping onto the now faded Elder Phillips engraved into the
tag. I don't know what shakes me the most: what I am leaving behind or what
faces me in the future.
And like a harpoon being ripped out of
my chest, the tag now hangs before me, clasped by the hands of a sobbing
mother.
As any missionary would know, for the
next few days you are the superstar. More loved ones are seen, American food is
devoured, and even though everyone says they know how you feel, you can't help
from feeling a little lost.
Soon everyone goes back to their
routine. I mean, what do you expect? Their world doesn't revolve completely
around you. Exclamations such as, “Oh my! I haven't seen you in forever!
How was your mission?!" seem to fade from your everyday conversations.
You're now just another RM.
I think that is the first real
adjustment all RM's must make. We build up the big homecoming in our minds so
much that once it's over we feel just a part of the crowd. We have to get a
job, go to school, and have grown up responsibilities that we obviously know
how to do since we lived independently for two years. 😏
The next phase is the dealing with the real-life
implications of our mission "success". We go on Facebook to find
people we taught and baptized. Some pleasant surprises pop up. "I can't
believe they got baptized!!" And some not so pleasant things. "Why
aren't you going to church?!?!" One day, I found out one of my most
beloved converts no longer wanted anything with the church. It tears your very
soul apart. You can feel your "success" draining from you.
This leads to a not so accurate self-reflection.
You begin to look at your mistakes not only in the mission field but in your RM
life as well, looking for some explanation to your "failures". You
recognize old habits you swore off in your mission that have crept in.
I spent too much time in this reflection
phase. It made me less confident, less social, and more inclined to give in to
all the things I had always wanted to try but knew were wrong. I mean, if I had
tried to be good and people from my mission still didn't want to change, maybe
it was time to try something else.
Good thing I didn't really act on those
feelings or I would be in a big mess today.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, if
this past year has taught me anything it's that to learn from the past is good if
you don't dwell there too long. People have to make their own decisions and
more often than not, they will pick right in the end. You owe it to them to
believe that.
Life isn't any easier after the mission,
but you do have a few more tricks up your sleeve.
More recently, I've seen that
people who didn't serve a mission or had to come home early can be just as (or
more) spiritual and awesome as those who bear the RM pin.
And most importantly;
It was the hardest, hottest, driest two
years of my life...and I wouldn't trade it for the world.
Everything STILL is awesome,
Austin Phillips
