Missionsick

This time of the year five years ago (ugh) I was serving as a full-time missionary in the Arizona Tempe Mission. More specifically, I was serving in a small-ish mountain town called Pinetop-Lakeside, Arizona. Not many people picture themselves in a forest of pine trees when they think of Arizona, but believe me, it was like a little patch of Oregon had gotten lost and wandered too far south.

And I loved it. Well, other than the subtle but constant feeling of claustrophobia caused by the trees blocking my view of the horizon.

The small community was fairly tight-knit, and there was only one person to fill each role like in a storybook town. The postman, the grocer, the high school principal, the mortician, the restaurant manager... the whole time I served there the song "Who are the people in your neighborhood?" was in my head pretty constantly. And, well, we were your friendly neighborhood Mormon missionaries. Everyone knew who we were, and most people (LDS or no, crazy or sane, murder suspect and assault convict alike) liked us. We'd go out to eat to find out our meal had been already paid for. We'd get to the end of a grocery line to find that someone had already swiped their card to pay for our groceries. And, though it was my first Christmas away from my family, I never really got homesick due to the outpouring of love I received during the holiday season.

Instead, every holiday season since, my heart aches for Pinetop-Lakeside more than my heart ever ached for home while I was away.

So though I doubt any of these people know this blog exist, I'd like to give a few shout-outs:

To the Whatcott family, the kindest and most humble people I've ever known. Especially to Sister Whatcott, who has since passed away. She was too incredible for this earth, it seems.

To Cindy Brown and her husband, for the GIGANTIC basket of Christmas gifts and all the times they let us come in and interrupt their watching of the hunting channel to try and convince them to come to church. It never worked, but we were loved just the same.

To Erik Rudneck and his 8 year old daughter, for letting us play Risk with them instead of him drinking with his friends. It was only one night, but in his words, "hey, sober fun can be fun."

To Valerie's husband who restrung an old guitar he found at the D.I. and gave it to me for Christmas. He introduced me to the genre of cowboy poetry while my companion would sneakily teach the discussions to his wife while he was distracted.

To Little Dove, the crazy woman in town who seemed to be there to teach charity to everyone she encountered.

To Dave Shepherd, the manager of the Love Kitchen, for teaching me invaluable lessons about unconditional love and allowing us to serve the needy alongside him.

To Kerri Liddel and her kids for the large Christmas meal she made specifically for us, and for forgiving us for never showing up.

Those are just a few of the people who touched my life that Christmas. And, who knew I had to go to AZ to have my first white Christmas in years?