This man made my week. Six weeks later, I got a letter and gratefully Matt still exists. I promised myself I wouldn't be a letter-waiter, or cheesy and say stuff like "I love my missionary!" but y'know what
I LOVE MY MISSIONARY
and I sprinted across campus to get it, and if that makes me very zoobie BYUish, then so be it. I embrace my lonely missionary widower tendencies.