Cuba Libre

@miamiherald.com

This past Friday night Cuban state television announced the death of Fidel Castro, long-time dictator, despot, and weirdly, friend of Canadian Prime Minister and fan of shirt-free pictures, Justin Trudeau. Although his power had, along with his health, long since diminished, the antipathy felt towards Fidel continued to simmer amongst the Cuban exile community.

As I wrote in a post here in the Den in October 2013, I spent two amazing years in Havana Norte - Miami - as a missionary, living in the thick of the Cuban exile community. It was one of the richest experiences of my life. It was there in Hialeah and Miami that I fell in love with the Cuban people, their culture, their food, and their wonderfully slaughtered version of Spanish. It was there that I also learned of what life was like under Fidel (spoiler alert - it wasn't good). I heard first-hand the stories of people whose families had been ripped apart by the Castro regime. I heard the stories of those who came over in the Mariel boat lift and I can assure you that the vast majority were not the hardened criminals and maniacs as portrayed in the press. They were people desperate for an opportunity to be near family and for a better life.

I will never forget one of the stories one of the Mariels told us. As missionaries, we had the opportunity to help in resettlement efforts as well as share our message about God and His Son. During one of those early discussions the young man we were working with asked, "God? Who is God? Let me tell you what we were told about God en la isla (on the island)." He proceeded to tell us about his elementary school experience. Every few weeks, the class would be instructed to bow their heads, close their eyes and recite a prayer, asking God for a dulce (candy - a rare treat). Dutifully, they would do as instructed. They would then open their eyes, raise their heads, and find nothing there. They would then be told to do the same, but instead of asking God, they should ask Papa Fidel for the dulce. They would again do as they were told and I suspect you know where this is going. When told to open their eyes and raise their heads, there was a piece of candy at each desk. Miraculously, Papa Fidel had provided but any sly seven year old who cracked open his eyes knew it was the teacher who had passed out the candy.

The damage was done. Faith in what parents had believed was crushed. So was any real loyalty to Papa Fidel. As rations dried up, so did the candy. So did any real belief in la revolucion. Where hope did not die was among the exile community. I saw it burning brightly in the mid-80's when I called Miami home. I've seen it every time I've been back to south Florida in the last thirty years. I saw it in all its exuberance as people celebrated wildly in front of that venerable temple of Cuban food, Versailles, this past Friday night. How I wish I could have been there with them!

While Castro's death is reason for optimism for the people of Cuba, tomorrow will not bring a Cuba Libre (Free Cuba). Change will come and with his passing, it will come even sooner. The Cuban people I know, love, and respect are patient, strong and they are committed.

Cuba will be free. !Vive Cuba Libre!

Homecoming

2014 / 2016

Two pictures.
Two years.
Two countries served.

One farewell hug.
One awesome homecoming embrace.
One mission served.

One missionary home.

This past Wednesday, TMFKATB returned home. I know this comes as a surprise to all of you because there's been nary a mention of it here. I've really downplayed it. Oops! Sorry for that #KatrinaPiersonHistory moment! It's been the complete opposite and thank you for indulging our family as we've documented the lead up to his return. I'll wrap it up today with a few highlights from his homecoming.

Wednesday morning started as it normally does - early, with me ensconced at my desk in my home office. About an hour into my day, my email alert chimed and there it was. An email from Delta announcing that TMFKATB's flight was delayed by four hours and no alternate flights were available.  Suffice to say, it was not welcome news. Ironically I'd joked the week before with one of Delta's most senior leaders by all that was holy that he was making sure all went well on 8/17. Guess who got my first email after getting the delay notice? Long story short, within about 90 minutes and through the miracle of playing "Let's Switch Airplanes!", the original flight was restored and all was on time again and all was well in the world.

I worked until noon and then jumped into help the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML with the last few things she wanted to do to prepare for his arrival. This included mowing the lawn, which I could have held off doing so that TMFKATB could do it for me since he hadn't had the opportunity in the last two years. But I mowed the lawn because #fatheroftheyear. We got his 'Welcome Home' sign hung and the flags of Mexico and Utah secured in the lawn. Once that was done, it was time to head to BDL.

@universe.byu.edu

This was NOT the scene at his BDL homecoming. No hordes of screaming relatives. No Haka rituals. No professional videographers calling for the returning missionary to come back down the escalator because the lighting was just a little off. Ours was far more subdued. Here it is:

It was, and is, a moment we will never forget. Watching the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML sweep our boy into arms was priceless. Embracing him again was as good as it gets. I hardly wanted to let him go. There were tears, laughter, and a whole lot of joy.

That joy has not dissipated. There have been some very tender moments that are best kept private. There have been very funny moments as we continue to watch him adjust to 'civilian' life. On his first night home, he fell onto his bed as if it was the greatest thing ever created. He keeps grabbing his chest where his name tag sat for two solid years. It's clear he feels exposed without it (There's something to that - taking off my tag was toughest part of my coming home). He has called me to repentance on multiple occasions as well (which is probably deserved, if I'm being honest). It's been funny to see what he's missed. I suspect that will keep happening...

We are overjoyed to have our boy home and grateful for his service. We are grateful to all of you for your support these past two years. We are beyond blessed.

Joy is the simplest form of gratitude. ~ Karl Barth

The best two (only two more days!!!) years

Of course, since it was his last P-Day (day off) in the mission field, TMFKATB went and changed things up. Over the course of the last several weeks, his letters arrived later and later.

Not today. His letter hit our inboxes right at 12 Noon (10:00AM his time). Clearly, he had things to do today, like packing, and spending a chunk of time going back and forth with his parents who he is seeing in 48 hours was not at the top of his list. He entitled his letter "The best two years" and it was pretty much perfect (says his totally non-biased father). He highlighted a final busy week, peppered with fiestas de despedidas because the Latin people know how to bid farewell to someone, and saying difficult good-byes to people he has grown to love enormously. So it's been an emotional week and he's ending it the same way he started it. When he got to his new assignment behind the Zion Curtain, he was thrust into a trio, working with two companions rather than one. He's going out the same way, as his companion was called to a new leadership assignment this past Saturday, and so TMFKATB finds himself in a trio once again. He's taking it all in stride, as he tends to do.

As he closed his letter, he talked about some of the things he's learned over the course of the last two years. He bore witness of knowing that there is a God who is aware of each and every one of us. He bore witness of knowing there is a Savior, fighting for each of us, continually cheering us on. He bore witness of how lives can be changed, not the least of which has been his own. He called this service his best two years.

It no doubt has been. I know I felt the same way when I was in his shoes. On the last night of my own missionary service, laying on a bed in a hotel room in Ft. Lauderdale, FL., I pondered what I'd been able to do during my two years and I thought it would never get any better. Those were two amazing years. They were awesome but were the foundation for the rest of my life. In the thirty years since then, there have been too many bests to count. Too many.

One of the bests, though, has been these last two years. I know it seems crazy that going nearly two years without seeing (I now we got a three week reprieve but that was not a fun time) or being able to speak to your child could be described as best but it has been. Watching him grow and seeing the young man he has evolved into has been an experience I wouldn't trade for anything. This has been an amazing two years for us. TMFKATB's two year mission service is coming to an end. But there's more good coming. I can't wait to see where it takes him. And us, for that matter.

All good things must come to an end. But if they decide

to go on, I'm not going to stop them.

~ Clarence Fountain

Bimbo. Himbo. Whatever works.

I love this.

P.S. Watch this space for an update or two on Wednesday. TMFKATB comes home that day. Allegedly.

Thank You

Sometime tomorrow, as has been my custom for the last two years, I will post an update sent by TMFKATB from the mission field. While the content may be pretty routine, the significance of tomorrow's post will be anything but routine. It is his last.letter.home. For those of you who have lost count, not to worry, I've been counting for you, and I can assure you, this it it. He will be home this Wednesday (as in just three more days). Suffice to say, we are more than a little excited.

When The Boy opted to serve a mission for our church and become The Missionary Formerly Known As The Boy (TMFKATB), I decided I would share a bit of his experiences here in the Den on a weekly basis. From the moment he opened his call, which contained his assignment to the Mexico Tuxtla Gutierrez Mission, to his illness, to his reassignment behind the Zion Curtain in the Utah Salt Lake City South Mission as a Spanish speaking missionary, you've been a part of it, and for that I say thank you.

Thank you for the comments over these last two years.
Thank you for the questions about what he was doing.
Thank you for the prayers, particularly when he was ill.
Thank you for indulging this Dad as I shared my son's experiences.

For those of you who are not Mormon and were unfamiliar with the mission experience, I hope this has been interesting, even helpful. If nothing else, if I've taken down the "Mormons are really weird" perception a couple of notches, then my work here is done.

It has been an honor to share these last two years with you. I'm going to miss his letters. I'm going to miss the anticipation of what each Monday would bring. I'm going to miss sharing that with you. But,  man, is it ever going to be good to take my son up in my arms again and say "Welcome home!" in just three more days (but who's counting, right?).

So check this space tomorrow for the last letter.

Thank you again for being a part of these last two years.

9 Days

The Real Salt Lake D Team

"See ya next week"

TMFKATB chose those four words as the salutation of this week's letter. Truer words have never been spoken. Indeed, we will see him next. He will be home in nine, count 'em, nine days! (Side note - why is it that whenever I hear the word 'nine,' I hear Dean of Students Ed Rooney uttering "Nine times!")

Today's letter arrived late and was pretty brief. He's clearly, and understandably so, preoccupied with his last days in the mission field. He's determined to go out strong and I am proud of him for that. He was a little reflective in this letter, noting that it "has been so cool to reflect on the people I have met and see how much they have changed." Because of the geography of his mission and the fact that he was a Spanish speaker, he didn't move around a lot during his service behind the Zion Curtain, so he has been able to see people change and progress in ways that other missionaries perhaps don't. I think that has no doubt helped him to see his fellowman in a different light. That insight is just one of the many blessings that has come from this two year service. I am so eager to sit down with him in a few days and hear him talk about all this. It's going to be pretty awesome.

So there's just one more letter. He confirmed that next Monday will be his final P-Day. I'm going to miss this. The last line of his letter today says it best:

Well, this is the last week, people!

Times / Days...you get the idea!

Quick hello

Today's post-haircut sneer - the Vein of
Approval on his forehead liked it - I
gotta tell ya, I love this kid!

We are, as of today, just shy of seven weeks away from TMFKATB's return from his two-year missionary service. If he's counting down the weeks and days, his letters do not really reflect that. Today's letter still shows a young man focused on the work to be done, particularly in the face of more than a little change.

At the end of this week, a new mission president begins his three year service in TMFKATB's mission. This, people, is no small task and not for the faint of heart. The men and women that lead these missions across the world are a special breed and we are grateful for them. With any large change that impact a bunch of 18 - 20 year olds, the rumor mill is running at DefCon 5 about what's coming. TMFKATB's take on it? "Excited" was the word he used. Because the LDS community is the definition of a small world, we have some Kevin Bacon-esque 'Six Degrees of Separation' to his new mission president and it's nothing but good. So excited is a good place for him to be.

In his pearl of wisdom today, I was counseled to get my haircut in, and I quote, "the ghetto" because they know how to cut hair there. So a couple of things...he got his haircut today by a lady from Puebla, Mexico. She is living in a suburb of Salt Lake City, Utah. They are behind the Zion Curtain. Doesn't that just scream "ghetto?" Yeah, I didn't think so. But then again, he still thinks that growing up on the mean streets of the Dirty 630, Naperville, IL, was a rough go.

Like his father, he's not right. But I'm so good with that.

A Milestone (of sorts)

His new shoes. Apparently the Salt Lake
branch of 'Gangsters R'Us' was having
a close-out sale.

Shoes are a big deal when you're a missionary. You're on your feet a stupid number of hours each day. Your shoes need to be comfortable. They need to be able to withstand whatever climate you find yourself in. It would be nice too if they'd last more than a couple of months. If you can keep a pair of shoes more than a year, you are some kind of superhero in missiondom. TMFKATB had a couple of pair of shoes that did yeoman's duty while he was in Mexico and faced the jungle rot like champs. Now that he's behind the Zion Curtain, he has upped his shoe game apparently. I'm guessing this based on the shoes he bought today, representing a two-tone milestone of sorts. He's worn out another pair of shoes (now that's a milestone) but channeled a 1940's Zoot Suit wearer when he bought his new ones. He included a picture of them in today's letter.

His letter was a good one, albeit brief. He's learned very quickly that being a part of mission leadership takes busy to 11. He's in meetings, leading trainings, and managing the mundane, like bike deliveries to various sundry missionaries. He's learning, even in his first week, that his actions speak far louder than his words and he's trying to lead by being a doer. He's also thrilled to be working with a diverse group of Latinos. It makes life better for him. He just seemed really, really happy. I'll take that any day of the week.

Fun for us to see a picture of him in
action - facilitating a training session

Thirty years on

There are no words.

This past Thursday, I succumbed again to #tbt temptation, and posted a photo from my past. I went deep into the WayBack, or WABAC, Machine (all props to Mr. Peabody from 'The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show' for that cultural reference!) to find the gem found on the left that I posted on the Instagrams as well as the Facebook. Before we get around to the most disturbing element of the photo, my Mo'Fro (Mormon 'Fro), some context and other things to consider:

- This was thirty, 30, count 'em, thirty years ago.
- I was a brand-new missionary. The supremely white shirt is a dead give away. It had not yet been subjected to the searing, color-crushing heat found in dryers in any and all Miami-area laundromats at that time. They had one setting: "Heat equal to that of the surface of the sun." I suspect it was because heat like that made for easy destruction of blood stains, DNA miscellany, as well as leftover blow. Remember, this was Miami in 1985.
- This photo was taken in an alley in Miami. I have no idea why we were back there. Probably the best place to lock up our bikes.
- The white Swatch watch. Matched my white shirt. This was the extent of my cutting edge fashion style. As a reminder, it was 1985. Also, Swatch is still a thing. Who knew?!
- Was I trying to channel Jake Ryan from "Sixteen Candles"? Google Image it and you decide.
- Now for the Mo'Fro. Seriously, there are no words. There is no way that this was an allowable length. As an old friend who served with me all those years ago said on the Facebooks, "I can't believe Mangum (our mission president) didn't make you cut that..." I agree. I have no idea how I got away with it. I also have no idea how I managed the style. It looks like I threw some shellac, or industrial strength AquaNet, on my hair and then slammed my head repeatedly with a frying pan to get that gravity defying look. I could have had a family of Cuban refugees in that mop and no one would have been the wiser. By all that's holy...

So finding this picture sent me down a rabbit's hole of memories as I pulled out a tattered box of photos from mission. There are some other photos that exceed the glory of the one above that may or may not make there way into #tbt rotation. As I looked at these photos, there were some moments of abject horror (mostly because it was the 80's), but mostly, it was smile after smile that came over me as I looked at images of people I served and people I served with. I saw families who had literally given up everything they had, meager as it may have been, to fight there way to the United States. While I can no longer remember the specifics of their histories, what I still remember is the joy they felt being reunited in the US. It didn't matter that they were living in a two bedroom apartment or in a tattered mobile home in one of Miami's sketchiest neighborhoods (and for Miami then, that's saying something). They were together. As I saw images of those other young men that I served with, I remembered late night conversations as we worried about the people we were working with. How could we, as nineteen and twenty year olds, help them? I remembered prayers being answered and finding those ways. What's funny as I went through all those pictures, is that I don't think there were any bad times. I know there were challenging times. I grew in ways that I could never have imagined in those two years and growing does not come without its share of challenges and pain. Every day was not sunshine-filled (despite what the Florida Department of Tourism would have you believe). But I became a better man because of those challenging days and how could I not be grateful for that?

So were those two years the best two years of my life? Nope. Were they the best two years of preparing me for the rest of my life? Absolutely. Those two years played a key role in shaping who I've become. I wouldn't have traded it for the world. Would I do it again? You bet, in a heartbeat, yes. But I'd probably forgo the Mo'Fro the next time around. You're welcome.

That Escalated Quickly

Proof! He made it.

Yesterday was an unusually good day in the City, aside from losing my brand-new Metro card (if I hear the MTA lament their budget woes one more time...they are sitting on a gold mine o'cash from all the unused balances on those stupid cards...but I digress). In spite of the rain, my train back to Connecticutistan, the one that is usually an hour plus late, was on time. That set off a little alarm bell in the back of my head. The other shoe was going to drop. Soon.

It dropped as I started down the escalator to my train. A text from the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML came in, asking 'Can you call me?' Something was up. I lose all phone service in the bowel of Penn Station so I couldn't call her. As I texted her back that I would call her as soon as we were out of the tunnel in Queens, I got an email but only the title would download (thanks again for the CRAPTASTIC wireless, Amtrak #firstworldproblems). The title read as follows: ITINERARY ELDER PARKER T LYONS

Wait?! What?! He only got his formal assignment Friday. Suffice to say, that escalated quickly.

Thanks to the aforementioned wireless (less being the operative word), I could not download the email until we got to Queens. Never has any one been so delighted to be in Queens than I was at that moment. At a little after 6PM, I read that The Boy would once again be called The Missionary Formerly Known As The Boy (TMFKATB) because he was leaving the next day at 830AM for his new assignment in the Utah Salt Lake City South Mission. I immediately called the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML and upon hearing her calm voice, I was reminded why I am married to the most amazing woman in the world. At this point, she'd known for about 30 minutes that her son would be out the door in twelve hours. She'd already outlined what needed to be done and was heading out the door with The Boy to pick up what was needed. Her voice betrayed not a hint of panic. She, as she always does, had it under control.

So I spent the next couple of hours trying to figure out if there was any way I could weasel out of the two conference calls I was hosting the next morning. They were starting at 6AM and would go to 930AM and The Boy needed to be to the airport early as he had no seat assignment for the first leg. I resigned myself to the fact that I wasn't going to be taking him to the airport.

When I got home, we spent a few hours together, packing and doing last minute things. The Boy called family and then he was set apart (religious ordnance) once again as a full-time missionary, so it was lights out at 1030PM for him. Suffice to say, it was not lights out for his mother and me.

This morning dawned early. We had a last family prayer and I dashed into my downstairs office as TMFKATB and his mother left for the airport. It was a flurry of emotions - pride, sadness (because I'm going to miss him), melancholy (stupid, stupid conference calls), love, gratitude - for me as they drove away.

Having him home for three short weeks was an amazing experience. We saw a young man exercise faith in such a powerful way. Several times while he was home, I could see him kneeling in prayer at his bedside. We prayed for his quick recovery and that he could serve again as he so deeply desired to do. Once he got his new assignment, he prayed that he wouldn't have to wait long before he could leave. His prayers were answered.

And so were ours this afternoon when an e-mail arrived from his new mission president. It included the picture you see above, I'll share the first paragraph of the letter:

What a pleasure it is to welcome Elder Parker Lyons into the Utah Salt Lake City

South Mission. I am impressed by his desire to serve. He is well and in high spirits as he 

anticipates the challenges and opportunities that lie ahead. Please be assured

that we will be watching over him while he is here.

So all is well in our world. So starting next week, it will be back to regular weekly updates from the field here and in his mission blog. I'm glad will be able to share those things again. Thank you all for being a part of this experience.

This Is The Place

Brigham called it and so did The Boy

Since The Boy returned from his eight months of missionary service in Mexico, our family's collective goal has been to get him back to full health so he could return to the service he loved. It's been hard for him to be home, caught in a limbo world between his life as a missionary and life at home, the last place he expected to be. We've been walking a thin line too, trying to give him space but being ever mindful of getting him better and wanting to keep him close.

Suffice to say, we were all extremely relieved when his infectious disease specialist (yes, we had to go to that level) cleared him last Friday to return to service. Interestingly, in his approval note, the doctor noted that The Boy would need to stay in the continental US. We had not said anything to him about that. With that approval, the waiting game was on for a new assignment.

A couple of days after The Boy got home, he announced that he knew he would be reassigned to either Idaho or Utah. I, for one, scoffed at either. I knew he'd be assigned in the US, as a SpanAm'er (Spanish-Speaking American assignment), and having served as a SpanAm'er in the Florida Ft. Lauderdale mission 30 years ago, I selfishly (albeit silently) hoped he might be assigned to my old stomping grounds. I think a father-son duo who think they are Cubans may have been the thing to push the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML over the proverbial edge, so it was not to be.

We learned yesterday what is to be. The Boy will follow in the footsteps of his pioneer ancestors and will settle into a desert valley nestled against the Wasatch Mountains. Upon his arrival into what became known as the Salt Lake Valley after a heinous trek, Brigham Young looked out over the vast expanse and declared, "This is the place." The Boy can now say the same. He has been assigned to serve in the Utah Salt Lake City South Mission as a Spanish-speaking missionary. He is excited and we are relieved. It's good to know where he'll serve the balance of his mission.

Now some of you may be shaking your head at a mission call to Salt Lake City. 'Isn't that the mothership?' you ask. Indeed, it is the headquarters of the Church and it is home to a whole slew o'Mormons, to be sure. It's that, for sure, but it is also a place with opportunity to serve, grow, and learn, like any other missionary assignment. I heard from a friend of mine yesterday as his son had served in the same mission as a Spanish speaker. He said, "Even though we were subject to wisecracks and disbelief that accompany a call to SLC, it was a great blessing for him and for us." Amen, brother, and thank you.

So now we wait. We have no idea when he leaves. This call was extended via phone, rather than the white envelope that normally is associated with a mission call, so there's a lot we don't know. We've got a few things to figure out in the coming days. Good times, my friends, good times.

Guest Post:TMFKATB Reflects on His First Eight Months of Service

It had never dawned on me to offer up the opportunity for a guest post here in the Den. Then The Missionary Formerly Known As The Boy (TMFKATB) returned home to heal a bit. While he is progressing, we are eagerly awaiting some test results which will give us definitive insight into what's next. In the week he's been home now, he has shared some stories from his experiences as a missionary in Tuxtla Gutierrez, Mexico. As he was telling us a story one night, I realized I needed to have him share a bit here in the Den and in his mission blog. What follows are his reflections, in his own words:

First, I would like to talk about my time in Mexico. The 8 months while being away were the best 8 months I could have asked for. Since the moment I landed in Mexico, my love for the country and its people began to grow. I started my time in Mexico with the best trainer I could have asked for. Before entering the field, many people told me i should pray to receive a good trainer because they can really start the feeling of a mission. My trainer was definitely an answer to many prayers. We hit it off from the beginning and we both just had a huge desire to work. My first area was one of the harder areas in the mission that hasn't seen "success" in a very long time. When i arrived, my companion told me we were going to leave the area better than we found it. Thanks to the grace of god, i think we were able to do that. That area will always be my favorite and something i will never forget. The lessons i learned there were incredible. I learned the power of obedience and the miracles that come from it. Some of my favorite families came from that area. Following my short training with my trainer, I was called to train and be a district leader. I felt so incapable of doing those two things, for i had not had a full grip on the language yet, let alone much experience in the field and the ability to motivate my district of missionaries. I ended up opening a new area and training a brand new missionary from Guatemala. I was forced to open my mouth and talk to everyone in my new area. This speeded up my learning of spanish ten fold. I had to do everything, just as my first companion had to do everything when i arrived in my first area. In this area i saw the power yet again of miracles. I began to get super sick again and as a companionship, we saw lots of trials in our area. We weren't seeing lots of "success" but we decided we would change some things and we just went to work. By the end of my time there we saw miracles. I learned patience and the power of prayer in my time there. I was often getting switched around with other missionaries that transfer due to my companion getting sick as well as myself. I saw so many things i would never have seen if i weren't in that situation. The lord was preparing me in so many ways. I was able to do a lot in those 8 months in Mexico. The things i learned there will only prepare me for my next phase ahead of me. as i got home, there were a lot of different things i am still getting used to again. A hot shower feels foreign to me still and it burnt me pretty good the first time. the amount of things we have in the states still shocks me. the support i have felt from my family principally and then from all my friends and people i don't even know has been wonderful. I know that this next phase will be incredible. I know that the lord needed me in mexico for the short time i was there. he prepared me in many ways for my next mission and i am positive i will see the reasons for why a lot of things happened while in mexico in my next mission. I love missionary service and i am itching to get back out there. The only thing i do is trust in the lord because if i do anything else, this would all be not worth it and i would be pretty upset. The fact is that i needed to be in mexcio for while i was there and i know there is things i will only be able to learn in my next area. for that reason i am going there. the lord does not get confused or make errors. i can't wait to see the reasons of all these events in these upcoming 16 months!

So there you have it. Many of you don't know TMFKATB personally but he, as he said, has felt your support. We have too, and I can't say it enough, but thank you again.

Coming Home

If you've been following the adventures of our son, TMFKATB, of late in his missionary service, you'll know that his gastrointestinal system has gone into full angry rebellion. That's never a good thing and things have escalated quickly.

When your key operating systems/defenses go into rebellion, what do you do? You pull out the big guns and throw all your resources at it to quell the insurgence. At least that's what you do according to the "Hunger Games" and "Divergent" series, right, Katniss and Tris? To that end, our missionary son will be returning home tomorrow so that the big guns, AKA GI docs and their ilk, can get a full picture of what's going on, quell the insurgence and get him better.

This coming home is an extremely difficult thing for him. He does not want to come home. He wants nothing more than to stay among the people he has grown to love in their country. He has the presence of mind though to understand that whatever is afflicting him is not going to relent if he stays where he is, so he knows that a change in plans is what is best at this time. He wants nothing more than to get better and serve once again, even if that means he can't return to Mexico. In the last couple of days, his mission president told him, "You were called by God to serve and that's what matters; where you serve is the assignment, not the calling." That counsel will no doubt serve him well in the coming days.

Since this escalated so quickly over the last 48 hours or so, the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML and I have been fraught with a slew of emotions. We are so proud of our son. We are hurting for his ongoing physical challenges and for the pain of having to leave his mission and the people he has grown to love in the time that he has been there.  We are humbled by the love shown us by our Church family. Our bishop (local lay clergy leader) stood before our congregation this morning and with genuine care and concern, announced our son's impending return and solicited the prayers of our church family on his behalf. It was a beautiful moment, marred by the muffled sobs of some ugly crier in one of the pews. Oh, wait, that ugly crier was me. Well played, sir, well played.

While we can't be certain what the coming days will bring, we are confident in the knowledge that it is all a part of the greater plan God has for our son and us. Truth be told, a 'sneak preview' of what's in store as far as that plan is concerned would be nice. In saying that though, I know it's not going to happen. Instead, we'll take comfort in the peace we felt as we talked to our boy yesterday. We'll take comfort in the peace we felt with our church family today.

We know this will all work out in the end.

Better

All smiles with his companion

After last week's letter and its opening salvo, "I'm dying," we were more than a little curious about the news we'd get from TMFKATB today. Happy to report that his letter, entitled 'i feel better,' was a most welcome read. Aside from the statement, "I feel so much better," he spoke no more of last week's dream date with chikungunya. Check here for a huge answer to prayers. HUGE.

The rest of the letter was pretty pedestrian, quite frankly, with the exception of a little run-in with some 'possessed' people. There is nothing like a mission experience when you find yourself constantly seeking to serve others that you see people in their best and worst moments. He had one of those pretty scary moments where he encountered someone who was convinced she was possessed. He didn't give a lot of detail but suffice to say, it's a heavy thing for a nineteen year old to experience. These are lessons that you wouldn't pick up in a college classroom. Based on what he said though, he's growing up in ways that are hard to describe. I'm amazed at the faith that he's demonstrating. Amazed.

One of the fun things that he and I have going is his weekly report of the best thing he ate. When he's feeling especially cheeky, he'll send a picture. He did it again this week, with some delicious looking tacos al pastor.

Clearly he was feeling more than well enough to feast on these. And I couldn't be happier for him.