Time heals all wounds

Aphorism: concise statement containing a personal truth. Usually true, the key word being usually. But not in this case.

Three years ago today I finished my eighteen-month mission for my church in the Brasilia Brasil Mission. One would think three years would be sufficient enough time for any and all wounds to have more than healed. This is where the "Time heals all wounds" aphorism falls miserably short. I am not refering to wounds received by living in Brasil. Conversely, I mean the wounds acquired in departing from Brasil.

It seems like yesterday that I sat on a plane looking down on the Plano Piloto with tears uncontrollably streaming down my face. I didn't feel as though I was leaving a foreign country going home; I was leaving home. Period. Most of you reading this blog probably served missions very much like I did. I know it is cliche within certain circles as you hear one talk about his/her mission and that it totally changed his/her life. Said person would also go back (to the mission) in a second if they could and then launch into a series of vinettes about the experiences both miraculous and funny, he/she had on their mission. However, no matter how cliche it is there is a reason people say that: It's true.

I remember at one point on my mission, I had been out for about six-months and my companion had been out for about six weeks longer than myself. I can even remember exactly which dusty path we were traversing that morning when I commented to my companion, "Those people who say that they would go back on the mission if they could...they are totally lying." I am not going to sugar coat the story. My companion sort of laughed and agreed. It makes me laugh now, since I am one of those people that I was chastising then. This revelation divulges the fact that yes, missions can be and are inevitably very difficult, trying every facet of your being. But, there is something so unique about them that you will spend the rest of your life thinking about it.

I don't know how it works, but I think it has something to do with the phrase repeated throughout the New Testament gospels, "For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it." The time I spent "finding" my life in Brasil was so uniquely personal and at the same time universally accessable to all those who heed the Savior's invitation to follow Him and "lose [your] life for [His] sake." Losing my life in the service of the Jesus Christ was the fertile soil in which all the many experiences came that changed me so deeply. Changed my heart. Changed my perspective. Changed my priorities. Changed my relationship with God. The last of which probably preceded and precipitated all the changes mentioned.

I won't try to articulate all the reasons why today three years later my heart still aches and longs for the days of hot, humid Brasil. Or why I can't spell Brasil with a "Z." Or why I can't really talk about anyone there without laughing, telling a story, and then getting choked up. Or why I look at the tropical fruit in the grocery store just to look. Or why I follow people around at festivals or in the store if I hear them speaking Portuguese. Or why I love the fat on large pieces of meat. Or why I love pretending I know how to samba. Or why today, three years later I sit here typing on my computer at 1:01 a.m. with tears streaming down my face. For me it suffices to say, I just wanted to remember why these are wounds that no amount of time or distance (4496 miles or 7235 kilometers, to be exact) can ever heal and I want it that way.

SAUDADES DO BRASIL!