Watch for Ice: A Blog Post About Returning Early From and Returning To My Mission

I've learned an important lesson today. At some point we all slip and fall on our butts. We find ourselves in this state at one time or another--though not always from ice. You can try to avoid it, but it is merely an occupational hazard of living. It’s a strange thrill when you are caught completely unaware, suspended in midair while you simultaneously hurl towards the ground. The next minute you are sitting there on your butt in utter disbelief, worried someone might see, and slightly sore.

This happened to me moments ago. The freshly fallen snow camouflaged the ice. I was walking back from taking the car trash out and WHOOSH! There I was, my rear drenched in snow and quickly becoming a buttsicle. My brain shut off and I begin to laugh and laugh. It’s these kind of life and death scenarios that make me explode into laughter—sick.

I realize I’m a fool sitting on my butt in the snow and decide to go inside. With stifled laughter, I go inside and burst, “Mom, I just fell on my butt!” I run to the window. “Look! You can see my butt print in the snow!” My mom, in her motherly way, laughs with me at my cold and stupid pain and adds, “Yep. You sure did fall on your butt, Hon.!”

In that moment I realized, that is exactly what the past few months of my life have been. I remember being sent home from my mission 10 months in. It was horrible and so unexpected. Life was going great and I was doing great and suddenly my monthly problems turned into hospital visits. Then, the rug was pulled out from under me--I was home recovering from surgery and adjusting to life with two new medical conditions. I've just been sitting in the snow wondering what happened and trying to figure it out and laughing at my feeble attempts to get up.

Today marks the day I obtained my doctor’s letter needed to return to the mission field! Ironically, it was returning from this trip to the doctors that I slipped. But today I got up again. Today I get to move forward with my life—the ground finally working with me to propel forward again. It’s been a wonderful moment.

I would like to thank all the people who saw me on my butt and offered to help me up—I needed your love. I’m also sickly thankful for the people who walked on by and pretended not to see me butt-plant, then followed up by ignoring the wet pants. Thank you. You were the ones that made me feel like I could be normal and the whole world does not revolve around throwing me a pity party. The best and final thank you goes out to those who saw it all happen and laughed right by me. Thank you for laughing. Being serious is terribly dreary in large doses. It takes real champs to read my medical history—4 major surgeries, a case of the shingles (at 19), Hot flashes, Menopause, insomnia, and far too many hospitalizations—and say “You are the weirdest 20-year-old I know” and continue to talk about how I’m secretly a 60 year old women (the only way they could be more convinced is if I suddenly developed colon issue). You made me cry the good kind of tears when you laugh too hard and it explodes out your eyes. I’m a lucky women to have ALL of the wonderful people in my life. I’m pretty sure I’m surrounded by the best human beings in the world--they are my family and friends.

For all of you beautiful people, I would like to let you know that tomorrow is my final interview and then all of the papers are being sent to Salt Lake too get approval to return to the mission field. I don’t have much information on what happens after that but I hope that the mission president’s plan goes through and I get to return to the Nevada Reno mission on March 3^rd. Perhaps another day I will write all about my experience and give professional advice on what I wish I'd known, but today is a day of celebration. For anyone who may still be sitting in the snow:

I hope no matter what the circumstance is, we find occasion to laugh.