Last night, I was at work, wearing a tie (i love wearing ties--not the point) long sleeve dress shirt, dress shirt, etcetera--the whole missionary gettup. I was helping a young man find some books, out of nowhere we strike up a conversation.
Steven: Have you served a mission?
Me: No, not yet, hopefuly soon though...
S: Oh, that's cool...I put my papers in in a few weeks, i can't wait!
M: Did you just turn 19?
S: No... I'm 22...
M: (biggest smile ever) I'm going to be an older missionary too.
at that moment I met someone who knew what I was going through. Someone who has had to stay off the awkward questions, the pain, the gossip. We looked into eachothers eyes and I knew I had a friend who has been where I am at, and now I knew I could make it through this time.
I was asked if I had served a mission over 10 times yesterday... Soon it'll stop hurting.
With that being said, I love my job. It's where I'm supposed to be.
Sorry, Samantha--you'll see part two tomorrow