Missionaries are considered equals in the mission field. They wear uniform attire, have similar haircuts and bear no indicators of their economic status back home. Their focus is on the glow in their countenance, not the gold in their watch; the light in their eyes, not the brand of their suits.

And then there are the mission reunions.

Officially, they are gatherings where people can reminisce and catch up. Unofficially, for many they are about whom you bring, the car you show up in and your post-mission, in-the-world status.

I'm sure the stakes get higher the longer someone has been home. But those first two or three reunions have to be the most pressure-filled, with sales pitches to discuss and hot, heavenly women to introduce.

So imagine facing a mission reunion when you're 23, not dating anyone and only 30 credits (half of which are from CLEP-ing out of Spanish) into a yet-to-be-determined undergraduate degree. For many, this isn't much of a stretch, and it's just about where my friend Don found himself two years ago this month.

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