Coming home was the hardest thing for me to do. It is deferent for every missionary. Some come home so excited and some not so much. I thought I would be the one who couldn't wait to see my family again. I started my mission really missing home. I missed my family, my boyfriend, even school work! But slowly I started to realize that the mission was exactly where I was supposed to be. My heart went from being in America, to slowly half in Australia and Half in America. I didnt want to give it my all because I truly did love everyone at home.. but by my 6 month mark. Home wasnt America any more. My home was my mission. I loved every second of it. My whole heart was into the work. I loved the people. They were my friends, my family, my everything. I never wanted to come home. There was nothing I would have rather been doing, no where I would rather be, than on a mission. I wanted to be the one that would rush down that escalator at the airport and hug my family with joy. But instead I was the last one down. Trying to hold back the tears. I sat upstairs for 20 minutes before I could compose myself to see my family again. I thought the mission would be the hardest thing I would ever have to do, but leaving it was truly the hardest.
