Coming home from my mission was a pretty frightening experience. Though I was blessed to be able to hang out with a Tahitian missionary on her way to Mozambique in the London Heathrow Airport for my 4 hour lay over, members sat next to me on the plane across the Atlantic, and I was relieved to have the dank smell of cigarette smoke on the shuttle all the way home.
France had changed me.
I was still in a daze when I got home and hugged my family in the dark parking lot where I was dropped off.
It felt like a dream. That night I sat alone in my room on my queen size bed.
I was going to sleep here by myself? It was HUGE and my companion had always been a bunk bed away for the past year and a half.
This was going to take some adjustments.
I went to sleep around midnight since my sister's boyfriend was over talking to my mom and I woke up the next morning at 5 pumped and ready to go. According to my internal timeline I had actually slept in until 1 in the afternoon and that was a big no-no by mission standards. For the next week I continued to wake up at strange hours like 2 am. Eventually I got it down and my jet lag went away.
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