A month and a day ago, I was pulled out of Colombia.
Remember when I told you that I sprained my ankle in the CCM in January?
Well, turns out that it didn’t heal. I realized in early June that it was getting worse–not better. And so I went to the doctor. We did X-rays, we did MRIs. And then they told me that I needed to come home for surgery.
I have osteochondritis dissecans of the talus bone in my ankle. Or for you non-orthopedic surgeons, a broken ankle.
Within 24 hours of realizing that I would be returning early, I was on a plane to Miami, and then to Las Vegas.
The next day I was extended an honorable release with every hope that I will return to the mission field soon, after recovery.
The miracles of the mission, however, have not ceased in my life.
I won’t lie. The first 2 or 3 weeks were probably the worst of my life. I felt orphaned by the system, like a mango that has barely begun to grow, still small, green and sour, that got plucked off of the fertile branch just as I began to believe that one day I would become large and orange and juicy, that one day I would really begin to see the fruits of my mission service in Colombia.
I sat at home for the first 2 weeks, stunned at the lack of schedule and structure in my life. Drifting and dreaming and longing to wake up from what seemed to be a detour, a split from the optimal desired path for my life. Like I somehow had done something to splinter off of the celestial trajectory that I convinced myself I was living before I came home.
However, with some help from my family, my bishop, and some great friends of mine, I am doing much better. I am working full-time again, so I keep busy, and I am mentally stable once again. At least as stable than my weak ankle. 🙂
I began to study like a missionary again, with some friends who will be serving in South America shortly. I began to teach the English-Second-Language classes in my stake, and I am slowly accepting and understanding better that I did not fall off of the horse of righteousness. My Father in Heaven’s will for my life was not frustrated.
I am exactly where I should be.
I don’t pretend to understand everything. And things are still difficult. But thats why it’s called “enduring to the end” or rather, the Spanish “Perseverar hasta el fin”.
Persevere until the end.
I don’t know when I will be back to the mission. But I will be back.
Élder Daniel Mortenson
Misión Colombia Barranquilla