Mission Reunion Misgivings

This weekend has brought me to Utah—just in time for General Conference and a mission reunion.

I had some misgivings about going to the reunion. For one, I went to one years ago when I was about a year removed from my mission only to find to it was mostly an occasion to show off a wife or significant other, boast of any recent accomplishments, and be one among many clamoring for my mission president’s attention. I usually avoid those types of situations.

Also, though, I probably wasn’t the most outgoing missionary (and can’t say that I’m the most outgoing person now) and don't have a lot of friends to renew acquaintances with. You see, I was a Spanish-speaking missionary in the Roseville, California Mission. As such, I was one of between 10-12 Spanish Speaking missionaries. We had our own Spanish Zone that covered most of the mission. For nearly all of my mission, this meant that my pool of possible companions consisted of the missionaries in that zone.

I didn’t mind. Most were great missionaries. We had a close knit bond that came with our frequent associations, and I got to be good friends with most all of them. I can’t say I ever really made any great effort to extend my circle of friends beyond these Spanish missionaries, though, except for those English missionaries we shared dinner or played basketball with.

So the number of people at this mission reunion that I was likely to know or remember is limited. But I felt an obligation to my mission president, and wanted him to meet my son—even if only for a few moments.

For the most part I was right. I recognized some faces, but the only name I knew there was the mission president and his wife (and my friend Jamin who arrived late). I figured though that since I’d made the trip I should reintroduce myself, along with my wife and son.

Most people were rounder than I remembered, and I hadn’t anticipated the awkwardness that sometimes resulted from admitting where I went to law school. My mission president also seemed a little shorter, but he has always been such a giant of a man in my memory that perhaps that could not be helped.

Otherwise, though, my mission president and his wife were every bit as warm and comforting as I remembered them, which alone made my attendance worthwhile. It was nice to renew even only a portion of those feelings that accompanied most of my missionary service. As I stood there nearing my time to leave the gathering, I realized that there was no field I would have rather labored in than the California Roseville, Spanish Speaking mission—even if nearly all of my friends who labored with me were not there.