He hoped they'd call him on a mission...

And they did. Where to?

Atlanta, Georgia, that's where.

It's really one of the most exciting moments of your life as you tear open the envelope and read "you have been hereby called to serve in the________ mission." I remember that moment for me was in the parking lot of the ER. It was about 1:30 a.m., I had driven all the way home to Roosy from Provo to open it with the fam damily, and once I arrived we all headed down to the hospital where Dad was working the ER shift. Buenos Aires, Argentina!!! Disregarding however much my older siblings valued their rest, I called them all that moment. Mission calls don't wait 'til morning.

This time around with Peter, we were all listening on the phone as he tore it open and read it to us all. I'm pretty sure I was as excited as he was. And I totally called it, folks. I said either Asia or Stateside. Ok, ok, I know that's a bit broad, but I was right, wasn't I? And we even used to live there! He was like two or something, but still.

Missions are great—and hard. For both those who serve, and those wait. I'm always so glad when a family member sets out to serve the Lord, but there's always a selfish corner in my heart yearning for them to stay. I mean, who is going to play the bongo drums for us now? And fix our computer? And laugh at all our jokes? Not Peter, that's who.

So while I know it will be the most important and hard and wonderful two years of his young life...

I'm sure gonna miss him.