The Missionary

By Guest-Blogger, Mike

I'd like to think that I'm a fairly active, practicing Mormon. I attend church pretty much every week. I have a calling (i.e. a service assignment in my church's lay ministry). I go home-teaching more often than not, although I have been known to stop by on the 32nd or 33rd day of the month. I keep a high percentage of the ten commandments (Number 10: "coveting" my neighbor's house is an ongoing problem). I wear white shirts. I consume jello weekly.

Lately, however, my calling has taken me to other congregations in our area--either to speak or teach a lesson or to do something else. But, in my mind, I was still going to church, even if I wasn't always attending with my family at our church. And, I was pretty sure that no one in my home ward missed me...until last Sunday.

I decided to wear a suit that I haven't worn in a couple of months. As I dropped my keys into my coat pocket, I noticed a small piece of paper that had apparently been slipped into my suitcoat some time ago. I pulled out the paper, unfolded it, and found the note below, from a concerned 7-year-old future missionary.

Check out the last sentence.

Thank you, Paige, for checking up on your Daddy and making sure he still goes to Church. I'll be right there with you on our back-row pew this Sunday. Promise.