When I left on my mission to Quito, Ecuador in July 2012, I had the plan to work my hardest and make every second count, as most new missionaries do. It was rough, and sometimes I wasn't the missionary I wished I was, but I did love the work. About six months after arriving in Ecuador, I got sick and found out I had parasites (a bug that you would find in food that isn't so clean). This was a NORMAL thing for a missionary in Quito. I just took this weird pill they called the "Bomba" and I felt better after a week. A few months later I got sick again and they once again gave me my favorite "Bomba" pill. I guess the effects of this pill started to take a toll on my body. My immune system was really low and I kept getting infection after infection. Eye infection, urine infection, bladder infection, you name it. Eventually, President made me companions with the nurse (Jalynn already mentioned how Hermana Holbrook is the best...I concur). Still, the doctors were thinking I had parasites so I took some more of these pills. I started getting migraines and my body stopped handling food. It was then decided that I needed a colonoscopy, which, following that, I spent a week in the hospital. I lost a lot of weight and as much as I wanted to stay, I got a call from President Ghent during personal study one morning. He said, "I'm sorry Sister Harris, but you need to go home. I already informed your family and you flight leaves at 11pm".
This was not what I planned. I had planned perfectly how my life would go and this seemed to ruin it all. I had 11 months on the mission and I wanted to stay. There was so much to do, so many people to help and so many things to learn! You can imagine my thoughts. First, I searched for what I must have done wrong. I beat myself up for every time I had slept past 6:30 or missed my morning exercises. I thought I must have disappointed God in some way and he no longer wanted me to teach. Second, I thought about the real world and how on earth I could face it. I wasn't ready to go home and third, I worried what my family would think or if they would still think of me as the missionary they were proud of. Obviously...I was listening to the wrong influence. The adversary was putting these thoughts in my head.
The first week being home was not what I expected it would be. When the Stake President told me to take my tag off, I couldn't believe what was happening. As I walked out of his office, sad as could be, I ran into three sister missionaries who apparently teach in Spanish. I became their new unofficial companion. I went with them all the time in between super fun doctor's appointments. I know God put them in my path. He loved me, and I tried to remember that. He had a reason for me to be home whether I know it, don't know it, or never know it.
The hardest part of coming home early was that people wanted to talk more about why I came home, than to talk about how much I loved my mission. The focus was not on those 11 months of wonderful experiences but on the week of me in the hospital. I made it a goal to, along with telling people about my health improving, I would share an experience I had as a missionary in Ecuador.
I'm an RM. I was sent home early, but that doesn't change the fact that my experience as a missionary changed my life for the better. I LOVED MY MISSION!
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