I've been meaning to write this since October when I had my interview with President Bateman. but I guess the life-train has kept chugging along a little faster than I could handle, all right?Within a few weeks of being back in the states, I stopped crying at every reminder of Europe. I then only cried at every spiritual reminder of the mission. A few months home, and I only cried when they prayed for missionaries in the temple. I wanted SO badly that the missionaries would know the sacredness of their call. I wanted so badly that they would feel success. I wanted dreadfully for them to grow in this experience. Because I wasn't anymore!
I've thought of working at Mormon temples since I first was able to do ordinances there at age 12. More seriously at age 20. and even more seriously at 22.
By 'working at the temple' I mean volunteering--serving. We're certainly not paid. It's better in French: 'servante au temple' which means a servant at the temple. I applied as soon as I met my new church leaders at school. and started working shortly thereafter.
You should have seen me after the first day of touring where I would work. Ecstatic. Ebullient :) I was completely giddy. As giddy as when I first received my mission call.
The funny thing is that nothing has changed. Every Wednesday, however long the day has been thus far, I become increasingly happy with my time working at the temple. I love it.
1 comment:
:-)
I got to be in the temple the day before the one year anniversary of my brother's death. It was a special experience... I had felt very close to him that entire year, but it was really special to have that reminder of what it meant when he left this life, and of where he is now. He was diagnosed with cancer when he had been home from his mission for a semester, and he died when he had been home for just over a year... It's neat to know that he's no longer hampered by a cancerous body, so he can be a missionary again.
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