A lot of the friends I made this past year have followed in the footsteps of myself and others and left their homes and families to serve a mission.
This last week, I had the opportunity to see off one of my former residents from my tenure as an RA this past year. He was excited. He was nervous. He didn't know what to expect. He reminded me a lot of me from way back when.
What a sacrifice. What a noble, honorable man, no matter how long he stays out there.
After he left, I got to thinking about the sacrifices I've had to make since I've returned home. I couldn't think of many. In so many ways, every day, every week, I recognize that I don't fully live up to my expectations regarding my own interactions with the missionary spirit. My blog is a facet of those expectations, but I can do so much more.
So, after my friend left, I drove up.
I went back up the hill my dad presented to me in the moments before I left, some three years ago. I looked at the temple, with the valley stretching behind it.
And I prayed. I prayed to know how I could improve.
Then, I started back down, hoping I would be a new man again.