"...if ye have desires to serve God, ye are called to the work"

Arriving back at BYU straight from my mission brought all the expected challenges plus more. I expected to be frustrated at not remembering math...or chemistry...or how to use 'correct: punctuation!?> Check! But what I failed to take into account was my awkward adjustment through the 3 phases of returned missionary de-evolution:

1) Thinking everyone else is going to Hell (This phase was thankfully cut short by my irresistible desire to have people like me).

2) Thinking I am going to Hell (my current phase. Is it getting hot in here?)

3) Returning to normalcy or working at the MTC (in which case you will NEVER be normal again ;)

Phase 2 is exasperated by the fact that I have gone from feeling incredibly useful and important to the Lord in daily service as a missionary to feeling like an injured regular of the celestial bench. You see, BYU doesn't have enough callings to go around and so, I find myself hoping to become part of the spiritual wellness and Sabbath day worship committee or the staff of assistant ward clerks that rivals Arthur Anderson's tax time employment level. Didn't the Lord promise "if ye have desires to serve God, ye are called to the work?" Well, "Speak; for thy servant heareth!"
That's when the voice came. It was one of those awkward post closing prayer announcements when someone rushes the microphone to seize a moment at the pulpit. "Meet at the common room at 2:45 pm if you would like to go sing to the convalescent home." While I tend to be conservative in labeling life events as due to the hand of God, even I was able to take comfort that in the least the Lord had answered my prayer through the workings of His perfect church. I was so there.
Once we arrived I remembered the secret that I had learned and then forgotten through the course of my mission: the secret of the church is service. Many of the home's residents suffered from varying levels of mental degeneration, but a majority had been raised within the unique culture of the LDS church. To them, the simple songs we sung--"I am a child of God", "Popcorn Popping", and "Choose the Right" wrapped around them with the familiarity of a baby blanket. As often happens in the all too human world of service, I did something embarrassing. While singing "Called to Serve" we were reminded by one of the patrons that the song was a march and that our bodies needed to act like it. While adopting an awkward marching movement while anchored against the wall, I had the uncomfortable realization that my back was becoming increasingly wet. As I turned to find out why, I saw that my position against the wall just happened to press me up against the hand sanitizer dispenser which my marching motion was vigorously stimulating to action...all over my back.
In more ways than one, I was able to realize the Lord's promise that through service, I would be made clean.