My daughter wrote this the night before she left for missions school. I love her heart and her faithfulness.
Here I am, sitting on my bed, shielded by my beloved blankets, surrounded by the safety of all the little trinkets and pictures I’ve collected throughout my 20 years of life, and about to embark on this journey. These last few days leading up to my departure, I’ve found myself completely and utterly unprepared for whatever it is that may happen in the next 4 months.
When people ask me where I’m going and what I’ll be doing for the next semester, I usually want to stare in their general direction and make the sound of static that I’m hearing in my brain.
But then instinct (or fear of being labeled as a complete freak) kicks in and I recite a vague and likely misguided monologue about the school I’ll be attending, how long it is, how I got this crazy idea in the first place, etc, etc.
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