Don't Cry For Me, Argentina.

I’ve been home from my mission for 6 months now, and I think it’s time to talk.

"Some things need to be believed in order to be seen."

Normally, I hate talking about things like this. It’s my trial and I need to find my way through it. I need to deal with my feelings on my time and do it in my way. But honestly, let’s just cut the crap and get down to it.

First of all, I need something to be set straight. My 18 month mission in Buenos Aires, Argentina wasn’t a part time thing.

One of the most precious families I had the privilege to meet. Maria Ester unfortunately passed away after I left the area. She was the strongest, most diligent saint I had ever met.

I lived in Argentina, breathed that air, drank that water (regrettably), and ate those milanesas (gratefully).

And the cheese and onion pizza...

I spoke with people daily in a language that is not my own, including the companions assigned to be with me 24/7, the people on the street, the members of the church, the doctors, police, and politicians.

I dedicated my thoughts to loving these people who were wonderful. They were generous, outrageous, extraordinary, and sometimes outright weird. They loved us, let us in to their homes and their lives, they fed us and sometimes clothed us on cold, wet, winter days.

This would be one of those times when we were poured down on, and a member literally gave us clothes to wear.

And you know what? They even rejected us. Some spit on us, some cursed at us, and others yelled or simply walked away from us. The commandments aren’t everyone’s cup of tea- or hot cocoa, depending on your stand on the Word of Wisdom. When we would teach the commandments and someone didn’t like what we had to say, who do you think got the wrath?

When it's the right time, you're blessed with a baptism. That's what our faces are screaming in this picture.

Some people would be so happy to be out of this situation. Each day so different from the other, not being able to tell if you’re coming or going. Not knowing where you’ll go next or who you’ll meet- or won’t. There’s ups and downs, excitement and boredom. There’s times where you cry so hard you fall asleep easy, and times where you laugh so hard you pee your pants.

I miss it. All of it.

I’ll stop stalling and get down to it.

When I returned home from my mission 6 months ago, I lost all my desire to read my scriptures. Yes- the very word I had been preaching for a year and a half of my life. I didn’t want to pray anymore. I didn’t want to tell Heavenly Father all my complaints and woes of my “incredibly terrible life.” I tried counting my blessings, and found myself only longing for home- my new home that I had made for myself. Nothing was the same, including me.

Upon arriving home, I had an extra day or two until I was released because my family actually lives completely outside of the stake, and mission from where I lived. 

When I finally went to see my stake president, I had plenty of mixed emotions. We sat down, got to talking, and then it happened. He told me that being released wasn’t like being set apart, there was no blessing involved. As he started to thank me on behalf of the stake for the service I had offered, I felt precious parts of me leaving. Looking back on it now, it must have been the mantle of spiritual and physical protection coming off of me.

The next thing I know I was on my way to Houston, Texas to work and save money for school that I would eventually get to. Some pipe dreams do come true. Although, those were hard months leading up to my time at BYU-Idaho. I was completely secluded with no friends, in a new place, without a sidekick (I didn’t want to say “companion,” but… yeah). While I’m saying this, I should point out that it wasn’t all bad. I had amazing spiritual support, a bishop who was on the ball and very personable. Making friends was different, but not impossible. Work was… Well, it wouldn’t have been work if it wasn’t trying.

My friend Rebecca was a huge blessing to me. She even served in the same mission as me just years apart!

Now I’m here, in Rexburg.

And this was just a rainy day...

If you didn’t know, it’s freezing- almost all the time. Although, it’s been fun. I’ve met some amazing people. I’ve made some memories in this first semester. I’ve also come to realize a few things.

You know you're good people if you all wear the same pants.

 Life after the mission is hard. I’ve never been as depressed as I have been lately. I could go on about needing the sense of belonging, or how much I miss speaking Spanish. I’ll never stop talking about feeling the presence of the Spirit all the time. My mission president and his wife will forever be family to me and I will never stop thinking of the missionaries from my mission as angels sent just for me- to help teach me and help me convert more and more to this amazing gospel. Missing the people of Argentina and the ones just like me who came from far to do what we knew was right, does not begin to explain the amount of emptiness I feel.

 Heavenly Father loves me. He knows me. He’s always been there and has never stopped blessing me. He will always listen to me and guide me to do the right thing. He is so very mindful of me and shows it every time I meet someone new or go to a new place. I’m not alone in this feeling, and he will never intend for me to be alone. The scriptures do, in fact, help. Prayer changes things, and brings miracles to pass.

 I love my Savior so much. I’ve never loved someone like I love him and I’ve never longed for someone’s presence like I do for his. That’s why I miss Argentina.