It isn't an inventory of excuses, a dialouge of drama, or a catalog of complaints. No, that's quite contrary to my objective.
I can't rewind time and stop a stumble, but I can show you what it's like to rise up and dust yourself off.
From the front rows of sunbeams my eyes sparkled with eagerness for suits, nametags, and all the magic that came with a foot-or-two. Bedtime stories were best from the mouth of a knight in shining armor who bravely battled in the kingdom of East Germany some many years before. Scout camps, piggy banks, and scripture stories all coached to one commission. Contrary to 1st grade addition, everything seemed to add up to the number 2.
Before I could blink, my arms were wrapped tightly around my precious mother and time swept me into fictional reality. Altered lyrics resonated the halls of the MTC as we sang, "We are now the Lord's missionaries to bring the world His truth."
And I lived happily-ever-after, right?
Well, no one said that happily-ever-after doesn't come without mountains to climb.
My mountain came in the shape of psychological illness. It wasn't something I chose, nor did it come as a consequence of disobedience. Instead it carries the
potential to shape me into something magnificent.
For the moment, I am home on Medical Release from my full-time service as a missionary. It isn't a conclusion to my call to serve, but rather a brief pause to a fairytale ending.
Maybe I can't change my tragedy. But I can embrace it.
Thank you family, friends, and otherwise teammates for your love, support, and prayers on my behalf.
You are the greatest encouragement any missionary could ask for.