The word “intermission” is typically defined as a “pause or break” between two things. But a pause or break between what things–that is today’s question. Between two paroxysms of a disease, for example, as opposed to a “remission” of said disease? Between two acts of a play? Which of course just leads to other, more interesting questions, such as “what disease”? Or, “is the play a comedy, a tragedy, or a history? Is it more Shakespearean, Sophoclean or George Bernard Shaw-ean?” And then, if you are not really mindful, you spend an entire afternoon going down numerous philosophical or whimsical rabbit holes (“will Ben notice that I am inconsistent in my application of the Oxford comma?”) and don’t finish your “intermission” blog until well after said intermission has ended. (“Shhhh!! Act II has started!”) Well, at the risk of offending the snobs who are trying to enjoy Act II, I am going to sit here quietly and finish my musings on Mary’s and my recent “pause or break.”
During January, Mary and I returned to the States for some dental and medical appointments. We spent almost three weeks in Colorado and Utah. Finish various necessary or routine medical and dental appointments? Check. Meet Robbie’s girlfriend? Check. Lose in Skull King in various locations to various people? Check and check. Get out for a ride through Chatfield with Chris Jensen, even though I had to borrow some bicycling clothes and actually buy a pair of cycling shoes? Check, check and check.
The whole experience was kind of surreal, like living in two alternate universes at the same time. We continued most of our missionary work while we were there–spending untold hours on Zoom or Facebook Messenger as we met with the mission president, missionaries, friends, recent converts, and the young single adults. But we also spent time in Utah with family, living in the same apartment we lived in last summer. We took walks along the South Platte trail. I rode familiar roads on my bike. Ate at some of our favorite restaurants. We also attended our old ward in Denver, and spent most of the day explaining that no, we weren’t finished with our mission and no, we didn’t get sent home. (Why would people think that we had gotten sent home early? Does that say more about me, or the person who assumed that? Oops, sorry–no more rabbit holes, I promise.)
We flew in and out of Boston rather than Montréal (long story involving canceled flights, car babysitting issues and, well, cute grandsons). When we got back to Boston on our return trip, Carrie picked us up with Patrick and Jordan. On the way home, Patrick said, “When we get home, Nana will help me color and Funpa will talk to Carrie.” It reminded me of when Robbie was little. One day he looked at Adam, and in turn pointed to me and then Mary, and said: “This is my daddy and that is your mommy.” It also made me reflect on our mission so far, and wonder who was claiming us and who was dismissing us.
That question was answered to some extent after our return to Québec. Louis messaged us and told us that he couldn’t wait to see his “gospel mom and dad again.” Marjhory texted us to make sure we had returned, and said that if we hadn’t come back, she would have called the Québec version of Social Services to let them know that we had abandoned her. She also bore her testimony on Sunday and referred to us as her “adopted parents.” During one of the breaks between the different branch services at church this week, I spent 20 minutes helping Stanley decipher the USC graduate school application he was filling out. Samanta came up and told us that she had submitted her mission papers. We attended the new young adult Gospel Doctrine class and were introduced to at least five new young adult “friends” who were attending church. We attended a baptism and confirmation of a young single adult after the Québec branch services. And each interaction reminded me of how much our “gospel family” has grown, and continues to grow.
At the end of the day, it is fitting that the word “intermission” literally can be read as a pause or break between (“inter”) parts of a “mission.” Which is sort of what much of January was for us. But it also made us realize how much we love being on a mission and, more importantly, how much we love the people we are serving. And each time I hear a recent convert bear his/her testimony after their baptism about how happy they are to have found a “community” or a “family,” I realize how lucky I am to be a part of that family.