I don´t know if you all realize it, but new years day I turn six months in the mission!
Wow. Six months away from home. One fourth of the way done. Next week I´ll have to have my "Best of Buenos Aires, Memorable moments from the first six months and what I learned" email. A lot of crazy things have changed back home. I´ve thought about it a lot, and I don´t know if the family will change as much for anyone on their missions as for me. I suppose that goes for everyone.
Some of the shocking news highlights
BYU beating a number 3 ranked Oklahoma team
Scott and Camille having their baby
Jennifer pregnant
...
But amidst the stormy sea of changing and rearranging, there was an unchanging north star. A constant unbreakable source of comfort. The same yesterday, today, and for what I thought would be forever. But now I know that nothing is certain. EVERYTHING is going to change. And how do I know that?
Because Ryan got a girlfriend
That´s right. Ryan got a girlfriend.
Is the sky falling? Is the second coming near? I knew I would see signs and wonders in the heavens, but this.... this indeed has caused me to be "exceedingly astonished."
Nay, "astonished beyond all measure."
Well... congrats cuz.
Anyone got anything else to tell me? At this point anything is possible.
Anyways, this week has been one of the best weeks of my mission. Hands down the best week in Avellaneda. It´s easy for missionaries to get down and trunky during Christmas. Luckily we worked straight through it. And we´ve seen undeniable success as a result.
I really have learned principles of work here. One of the many things I´ll take away from Avellaneda. The other missionaries telling me what a dead area it was. It would have been easy to get discouraged. Actually I did get discouraged. Very discouraged at times. But I found, those feelings usually only existed at the end of the day, or in the morning when we were prepping. When out on the street and contacting and talking to people I always felt better. I was never depressed.
Work is a blessing. With Avellaneda, there was only one way to get this area back up, and that was work. More importantly diligence. I was impressed by what Elder Uchtdorf said about work in the priesthood session of last conference. How while we´re working, it may not seem like things are getting better, but slowly and surely they will. I´ve seen that here.
Ok, so Avellaneda 2 isn´t the highest baptizing area in Buenos Aires, far from it. But we´ve seen miracles this week. We´ve been led to people in fantastic ways. Sometimes it felt like we were just wasting time here. Sometimes when we were wandering, we were too afraid to talk to people, and we would end up going for miles. But the point is we kept going. We were outside the Pension to the end of the day every day. We never threw in the towel. And even though we aren´t the best of missionaries, not even close, we´ve seen miracles here. We´ve been led to the people that the Lord has prepared.
For example:
Saturday night we wanted to go out to Villa Dominico, but knew if we ended up eating late with the ward members, we wouldn´t have time to get back to our appointment close to the Pension. Elder Valerin insisted on heading out there, but I wanted to make a backup plan for Serandi, the area back close to the Pension. Elder Valerin convinced me not to worry about it, and I agreed.
So the next day, we end up eating late with the members, and we don´t have time to head out to villa Dominico. My first impulse was to get on my self righteous high horse and say "I told you so!" Instead we just did contacts in the area we were in. After touching doors in that area for the better portion of an hour and a half with little success, we ended up running into an Hermana from the ward at the end of the street, who happened to be passing by and happened to have a reference for us. It was a woman who had recently lost her husband. We proceeded to the house as directed and were able to do a powerful contact about the plan of salvation. It was exactly what she needed and she let us right in. We left a Book of Mormon with Alma 40 for her to read and a solid return appointment.
As we left, I thought about all the little things that happened in every one of our contacts that led us to the point where we ran into that Hermana at that time. Just a few seconds different, and we would have missed her. Coincidence? Good luck?
No, it´s a lot more than that.
There were literally hundreds of little things that happened over the course of two weeks, from the point the member family set up a lunch appointment with us, to put us on that street corner to receive that reference and find that person at that time.
My friends, there is no such thing as coincidence. God is directing His work, and His work gets done.
Allow me to share a bit more about that experience from another perspective.
A contact on that street, a middle aged argentine woman came out to greet us. She said "I´m not interested in anything you have to say to me, because all of it´s a lie! I´m angry with God right now. He took my spouse and my Mom!"
We tried to explain to her that she could live with her loved ones for all of eternity, but she was persistent. "Liars!" She shouted at us.
Calming her down a bit, we explained if she would listen to us, we could show her how she could ask God herself, that she didn´t have to believe in us, but she was insistent. "Liars," She cried again.
"Look,” I started, "We´re here to bring you a message of happiness. Do you want to be happy in your life?"
"No." She replied, "God took my Mom and I´ll never be happy again."
Despite all methods of persuasion, she was beyond persuasion. She was filled with her own cynical pride and didn´t want anything to come in between her grudge with God.
Contrast that with our finding appointment from the reference of the woman who recently lost her spouse (her name is Sylvina).
In the appointment we asked, "Do you believe that God answers prayers?"
She responded, "Yes, I believe it. I´ve had some very hard times lately, but God has always been there for me. I think sometimes we just can´t see the reason in the moment. But if we wait, we will see."
I bore my testimony that that was exactly right. There´s always a reason to the madness. Even if it takes us a while to see it.
The common thread of the aforementioned stories is circumstance, and the way we choose to deal with it. We can be angry that things aren´t happening the way we think they should, or we can just let go. Fall away from our preconceived notions of life as we know them and let God do His work. At the end of the day, when all is said and done, we have the choice. We can decide to give our lives to God and let him do his work, or we can metaphorically bite the hand that feeds us. Our father in Heaven knows what we need, better than we do. Are we humble enough to accept what He wants for us? Or do we want to do things our way? Have peace and serenity in this world and the world to come, or be plagued with bitterness and regrets through all eternity.
Because you see, the real choice we have in this life isn´t so much between good and evil as it is between happiness and misery. Sometimes it takes a little faith to let go of the things that we think give us joy, but every time we do we realize what we really wanted all along. The choice is ours. Are we humble enough to make it?
Just remember the words of Sylvina. "There´s always a reason. Sometimes we just can´t see it."
Give your life to God. I know he makes more of us than we make of ourselves. At least he´s done that much for me.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Avellaneda
I’m lacking in things to say this week. Usually at least one experience sticks out to me. In Avellaneda, it’s been a lot of walking, and talking, and wandering.
In the immortal words of Gary Crowton: "It's a rebuilding year."
Or in this case transfer.
Having followed about a year’s worth of lazy missionaries, this work is dying... dying... almost dead.
The Pension is ominously large, because it was intended for four missionaries. One of the rooms is cluttered with maps, marked and full of investigators. A ghostly tribute to how much things have slipped here. Monuments to a better time in the work. When the missionaries of Avellaneda actually cared.
"It's because the people are cold here" says Elder Valerin.
No. I won’t believe that. I refuse to believe that. Especially since our zone leaders across the mitre are putting up some of the biggest numbers in the mission. The people are not the problem here.
I’ve started to have fear of talking to people after so many rejections, so I’ve started to do things a bit differently. I just talk to people. I tell them where I’m from, and they ask me how I like it in Argentina, and I tell them that I absolutely love it, and they like that. Then I talk to them about work and family, and then give them a pamphlet. These are usually my bus contacts, and they’ve been going a lot better. I’m trying to get better at talking to everyone. So far it hasn’t produced any results, but it’s the first step to actually finding people to teach.
If the field is white and ready to harvest, this field has clearly been neglected. And it’s going to take a bit of work before it’s harvestable again.
But it is the Christmas season, and it is wonderful to actually be doing something worth doing this year. Sharing the message of Christ with all the world. The true message of the season. I was thinking a lot about that. How the birth of Christ has had such a profound impact on the world that 2000 years after His birth the spirit still persists. Everyone feels obliged to give a bit more. Be a little kinder.
The universality of the season has definitely been reaffirmed to me working here in Argentina. It’s the same spirit. Albeit, a lot warmer than I’m used to (it's about 75 degrees outside with a nice humid breeze just FYI)
Ok, so bottom line. Avellaneda is a rough neck of the woods, but it was, as president Asay described, a Garden of Eden in its heyday. I know there are people to teach here. I know that we’ll find them; it’s just going to take a bit of time. Its when were uncomfortable that we grow.
I know Christ lives. This is His church. He came and died so that we could live. That's our Gospel. That’s the good news. We have to share it with the world.
In the immortal words of Gary Crowton: "It's a rebuilding year."
Or in this case transfer.
Having followed about a year’s worth of lazy missionaries, this work is dying... dying... almost dead.
The Pension is ominously large, because it was intended for four missionaries. One of the rooms is cluttered with maps, marked and full of investigators. A ghostly tribute to how much things have slipped here. Monuments to a better time in the work. When the missionaries of Avellaneda actually cared.
"It's because the people are cold here" says Elder Valerin.
No. I won’t believe that. I refuse to believe that. Especially since our zone leaders across the mitre are putting up some of the biggest numbers in the mission. The people are not the problem here.
I’ve started to have fear of talking to people after so many rejections, so I’ve started to do things a bit differently. I just talk to people. I tell them where I’m from, and they ask me how I like it in Argentina, and I tell them that I absolutely love it, and they like that. Then I talk to them about work and family, and then give them a pamphlet. These are usually my bus contacts, and they’ve been going a lot better. I’m trying to get better at talking to everyone. So far it hasn’t produced any results, but it’s the first step to actually finding people to teach.
If the field is white and ready to harvest, this field has clearly been neglected. And it’s going to take a bit of work before it’s harvestable again.
But it is the Christmas season, and it is wonderful to actually be doing something worth doing this year. Sharing the message of Christ with all the world. The true message of the season. I was thinking a lot about that. How the birth of Christ has had such a profound impact on the world that 2000 years after His birth the spirit still persists. Everyone feels obliged to give a bit more. Be a little kinder.
The universality of the season has definitely been reaffirmed to me working here in Argentina. It’s the same spirit. Albeit, a lot warmer than I’m used to (it's about 75 degrees outside with a nice humid breeze just FYI)
Ok, so bottom line. Avellaneda is a rough neck of the woods, but it was, as president Asay described, a Garden of Eden in its heyday. I know there are people to teach here. I know that we’ll find them; it’s just going to take a bit of time. Its when were uncomfortable that we grow.
I know Christ lives. This is His church. He came and died so that we could live. That's our Gospel. That’s the good news. We have to share it with the world.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
¡Mi Cuñada dio la luz!
¡Felicitaciones Camille! Me siento muy fuerte que usted iba a dar la luz esta semana. No se porque. Pero, esa sintimiento tenia razon. Ahora vos sos una madre! Desunfortunadamente no he aprendido mucho acerca de eso en la obra misional, entonces no puedo darte consejo. ¡Pero realmente estoy feliz!
I’m an uncle!
Yesterday we ate with a family and they asked me if I had nephews or nieces. "Maybe," was my reply. Now I know. Congratulations! Scott and Camille! Parents! And me. An uncle. Me alegro
another week in Avellaneda. Wow...
Trying to get away from tracting, but it keeps on happening. I’m just looking for better ways to do things, and trying to overcome my discomfort of talking to people. I just don’t know how to present the message in a way that’s really going to strike people. I’ve had to depend on the spirit a lot, but even still it’s been rough. I’ve felt very ineffective this week.
Yesterday I cooked roast beef for a family in the ward that lives close to the pension. It all started Saturday when I had already bought the ingredients to make it for Elder Valerin and myself. We were at the member’s house and they asked us over for dinner. I explained we had already bought stuff to cook tomorrow. "Oh," they responded, "that’s ok. You can just cook for us."
What could I say?
We brought the roast and gravy and everything. They had a big family, and fortunately it was enough. I had to show them how to make the potatoes into a bowl and pour the gravy in. They had never had gravy before and one of the kids upon tasting it exclaimed "This is the best thing I’ve tasted in my entire life!!!"
I was glad they liked it.
By the way mom, I love my Christmas presents. These past two weeks have been incredibly rough, and it’s nice to have something to look forward to at the end of the day. We’ve been able to predict the tie and the milk duds, but we thought the season salt was a candle. You got us. I should get the second package tomorrow.
On Tuesday night, we were incredibly frustrated. All the scheduled plans we had had already fallen through. Elder Valerin tried to convince me to go back to the Pension early, as it was dark and nobody was listening. I knew I wasn't the best missionary, and maybe we wouldn’t find anyone, but I refused to go to throw in the towel early. I felt terrible even thinking about it. Elder Valerin was in the midst of telling me how we could go back and plan effectively for the next day when all of the sudden a man passed by, who Elder Valerin, interrupting himself, contacted. He took a look at the white shirts then the nametags and shouted out "aha! Missionaries! You talk about Jesus don’t you?"
We were both surprised. We told him that we did share a message about Christ with everyone.
"Great!" he exclaimed, "sit down sit down sit down"
He gestured to the curbside and we both sat down on the concrete. He was a very animated man who waved his hands a lot. Darker complexion standing at about 5 2
"So,” he started, "I’m going to listen to you, but first you have to listen to me."
We looked at each other assessing the situation, and frankly were just happy to be talking to somebody. We agreed and he started talking.
"I come from Uruguay. NATIVE Uruguay! Indigenous I tell you! So you two are out here preaching about Jesus right? Well I’ve got a question for you. Where did Jesus preach?"
We both responded unanimously, "Jerusalem"
"Aha!" He exclaimed again with his hands in the air. "Just Jerusalem eh? Don’t you think there are other people in the world that needed to hear about what Jesus had to say? If it was so important, if God really does love his Children, why didn’t Jesus come here to the Americas?!"
..........
We stared with slack jaws as the short man from Uruguay grinned with a big "Now I’ve stumped em" expression on his face. Clearly he had used this thought process on evangelicals and Jehovah Witnesses before without a satisfactory response.
I ripped out a Book of Mormon faster than a samurai sword. And fumbled through the opening pages to the picture of Jesus in the Americas and asked, "Do you know where this is?"
"Somewhere in the Americas" he replied
"Do you know who this is?" I asked.
"Jesus" He replied.
It was like something off a seminary video.
So we had the privilege of explaining the book. He was hardheaded. Still didn’t completely listen. But we told him enough to make him realize that it was his ancestors who wrote this book.
Unfortunately he lived in a different area, so we never did see the end of it, but I’ll never forget the little man from Uruguay who asked the most golden question I’ve ever heard.
So much of the mission is like that. Great starts and empty finishes. Nothing here ever has an ending. I said something like that to the President when I was pending leaving Ensenada and his response was "That’s because you’ll never see the end. The work just keeps on going and going. That’s the miracle of it."
Avellaneda is a field that’s ready to harvest, the problem is its been neglected for so long that it’s going to take a little house cleaning before the work gets going again. But I have faith. The work just keeps on going and going. That’s the miracle of it. If this was just the work of 19 year old boys there would be great reason to be afraid. But this is God’s work.
I’ve found much consolation in my situation in the first 4 chapters of 1 Nephi. I invite any within reach of this email to study those chapters and pay attention to how the Lord "Provides a way." It isn’t always easy. As a matter of fact, the Lord let them fail a few times first. But pay attention to how eventually they are guided, and the testimony they gain afterward.
Monday, November 30, 2009
La vida de Avilleneda
THIS MESSAGE IS BROUGHT TO YOU BY WAL MART
Sigh....
This week has been rough.
But I´ve grown a lot!
Whenever I get too comfortable someplace, that´s when it´s time to leave. Like I said earlier, God takes away the training wheels so we can learn to ride free. Unfortunately you still might fall down in the process. Especially if you were dependent on the training wheels...
I´m taking this metaphor too far
So Elder Valerin. He stands about a foot shorter than me with thick glasses and defined lips. The best description I can afford of him is that of Gonzo from the Muppets.
Avillaneda is a big city. A BIG CITY.
Tip of the hat today goes to, no not BYU football (although it is deserved. Go Cougars. Jonathan I won´t have time to write you this week, but thanks for the football season updates. Let me know how basketball is going), but rather globalization.
Yep, globalization.
Thanks to globalization, I have two Wal-Marts in my area, both of which have an incredible variety of international foods. I now enjoy things like pretzels again. And refried beans. Rosarita refried beans. Saturday I made my nachos and washed them down with a Twix bar. The unceremonious homogenization of contemporary society as we know it never tasted so good.
It´s like I can walk back to the states anytime I want.
Wal Mart. What a great place.
It is actually quite depressing.
I need to get a picture of the Wal-mart and McDonalds sign with the endless fields of Argentine shacks in the background. It´s such a cliché political statement, but suddenly has become disturbingly real.
Anyways. ENOUGH ABOUT WAL-MART.
This area is a big city. A BIG CITY. Downtown Buenos Aires. And not the good part. About half of our gigantic area has been red flagged, or deemed as too dangerous to enter. Pretty cool huh?
This place is actually struggling. In more than one way. When I got here, I realized that Elder Valerin didn´t have any plans for the night. A very bad sign. We spent most of the time wandering and contacting. Another thing about the big city, the people here are very cold. It´s either too much money, or devastatingly poor. There is no middle class here. Unfortunately, we´ve been red flagged around the devastatingly poor. So we´re preaching to the plata now.
I had to set in order the area book the next morning. I suddenly felt like Gordon Ramsey on one of those episodes of Ramsey´s kitchen nightmares. The area book was a random barrage of one time visit new investigators, the likes of which were completely lost on Elder Valerin. I finally found the only progressing ones that we had, which left us with a progressing investigator section thinner than a saltine cracker.
So this week has been about touching doors. And touching doors. And more doors. Doors doors doors. And walking. And rejection. A whole lot of rejection. You know the cliché vision of missionary work. The vision of missionary work I’ve had for my whole life.
Suddenly I had appreciation for the European missions. (Thanks for the letter by the way Jason! It straight up made my day!)
The worst part is, Elder Valerin is looking to me. TO ME to get something done in this area. For example he´ll ask, "So where do you want to go now?" As if I have any idea. I´ve been here for about two days, not to mention only three months in Argentina.
So it´s been rough. Real rough. I´m learning a ton though.
Thanksgiving day, I was thinking about the family as I was tracting through rain getting rejection. I thought of the big old turkey and the warm company. I thought about how lonely, stressed, and lost I felt at that moment. I looked down at my watch and it was about six o clock. I figured you were probably starting in on dinner about then. I thought about how we always prayed for the missionaries at dinner, and how at that moment on the other side of the world, my family was probably gathered together praying for me.
No sooner had I thought that, when we contacted a middle aged man who immediately invited us out of the rain and into his home. He offered us food and drink and intently listened to our message. He promised to read and pray about the Book of Mormon, expressing how much sense it all made.
As I left, I had the distinct impression that I had been led to him because of your prayer. I don´t know why, but I did. I knew I didn´t have a turkey. I didn´t have much. I was lost and a bit lonely. Very out of place. But I was also very grateful. Grateful I could be doing something on thanksgiving that was actually worth being thankful for. Grateful for a family that´s concerned about me. Grateful for a God that is guiding me. For the opportunity to be His servant.
I´m grateful for all of you. Thank you for your prayers in my behalf. I feel them all the time, and in a large part they got me through this week.
Sigh....
This week has been rough.
But I´ve grown a lot!
Whenever I get too comfortable someplace, that´s when it´s time to leave. Like I said earlier, God takes away the training wheels so we can learn to ride free. Unfortunately you still might fall down in the process. Especially if you were dependent on the training wheels...
I´m taking this metaphor too far
So Elder Valerin. He stands about a foot shorter than me with thick glasses and defined lips. The best description I can afford of him is that of Gonzo from the Muppets.
Avillaneda is a big city. A BIG CITY.
Tip of the hat today goes to, no not BYU football (although it is deserved. Go Cougars. Jonathan I won´t have time to write you this week, but thanks for the football season updates. Let me know how basketball is going), but rather globalization.
Yep, globalization.
Thanks to globalization, I have two Wal-Marts in my area, both of which have an incredible variety of international foods. I now enjoy things like pretzels again. And refried beans. Rosarita refried beans. Saturday I made my nachos and washed them down with a Twix bar. The unceremonious homogenization of contemporary society as we know it never tasted so good.
It´s like I can walk back to the states anytime I want.
Wal Mart. What a great place.
It is actually quite depressing.
I need to get a picture of the Wal-mart and McDonalds sign with the endless fields of Argentine shacks in the background. It´s such a cliché political statement, but suddenly has become disturbingly real.
Anyways. ENOUGH ABOUT WAL-MART.
This area is a big city. A BIG CITY. Downtown Buenos Aires. And not the good part. About half of our gigantic area has been red flagged, or deemed as too dangerous to enter. Pretty cool huh?
This place is actually struggling. In more than one way. When I got here, I realized that Elder Valerin didn´t have any plans for the night. A very bad sign. We spent most of the time wandering and contacting. Another thing about the big city, the people here are very cold. It´s either too much money, or devastatingly poor. There is no middle class here. Unfortunately, we´ve been red flagged around the devastatingly poor. So we´re preaching to the plata now.
I had to set in order the area book the next morning. I suddenly felt like Gordon Ramsey on one of those episodes of Ramsey´s kitchen nightmares. The area book was a random barrage of one time visit new investigators, the likes of which were completely lost on Elder Valerin. I finally found the only progressing ones that we had, which left us with a progressing investigator section thinner than a saltine cracker.
So this week has been about touching doors. And touching doors. And more doors. Doors doors doors. And walking. And rejection. A whole lot of rejection. You know the cliché vision of missionary work. The vision of missionary work I’ve had for my whole life.
Suddenly I had appreciation for the European missions. (Thanks for the letter by the way Jason! It straight up made my day!)
The worst part is, Elder Valerin is looking to me. TO ME to get something done in this area. For example he´ll ask, "So where do you want to go now?" As if I have any idea. I´ve been here for about two days, not to mention only three months in Argentina.
So it´s been rough. Real rough. I´m learning a ton though.
Thanksgiving day, I was thinking about the family as I was tracting through rain getting rejection. I thought of the big old turkey and the warm company. I thought about how lonely, stressed, and lost I felt at that moment. I looked down at my watch and it was about six o clock. I figured you were probably starting in on dinner about then. I thought about how we always prayed for the missionaries at dinner, and how at that moment on the other side of the world, my family was probably gathered together praying for me.
No sooner had I thought that, when we contacted a middle aged man who immediately invited us out of the rain and into his home. He offered us food and drink and intently listened to our message. He promised to read and pray about the Book of Mormon, expressing how much sense it all made.
As I left, I had the distinct impression that I had been led to him because of your prayer. I don´t know why, but I did. I knew I didn´t have a turkey. I didn´t have much. I was lost and a bit lonely. Very out of place. But I was also very grateful. Grateful I could be doing something on thanksgiving that was actually worth being thankful for. Grateful for a family that´s concerned about me. Grateful for a God that is guiding me. For the opportunity to be His servant.
I´m grateful for all of you. Thank you for your prayers in my behalf. I feel them all the time, and in a large part they got me through this week.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Navidad in Avillevera
If the title didn´t clue you in, I´m bound for Christmas, but not in Ensenada. Just like I was predicting, I got transferred.
Speaking of Christmas I got the first package today. Props mom on sending it cheap. I don´t know what you did, but you did it right. I only had to pay 4 pesos. To put it into perspective others were paying upwards of 300. The other missionaries were, in book of Mormon terms, "Exceedingly astonished," at my cheap package.
So I was up until 1 30 last night getting my things together. And we were awake at 530 this morning to catch a train to the mission home in Bonfield. I am EXHAUSTED!
So that´s where I am right now, in Bonfield at a random Argentine cyber with a space bar that is making it incredibly difficult to write.
It doesn´t help that I have a TON of things to write about.
I´ve yet to see my new area, and I met my new comp about an hour ago. Elder Valedin. His dad is from Costa Rica, but he grew up in California speaking English in Spanish. So he´s essentially native in both languages. It´s a golden opportunity to really start developing my Castellano. Elder Bushman and I got real lazy with our Spanish speaking.
I´m leaving the stretching fields and tranquil riverbeds of Ensenada for down town Buenos Aires. Our area is HUGE. I´m yet to see it yet, but it is gigantic. It´s going to be a whole new type of adventure. Frankly, I’m a bit nervous. Ensenada was a fairly sheltered tranquil place. Avillevera... well, welcome to the jungle.
Leaving Ensenada was rough. Very rough. I was so content with Elder Bushman. He was a best friend to me, always so easy to get along with. Wonderful members, great atmosphere. I even knew where to buy cheddar cheese!
This week was up and down. At the beginning, we had 3 days straight where all our plans fell through. We still found people to teach, but we were doing a LOT of contacting. It was quite discouraging.
On Monday one of our investigators with a baptismal date, Angela, told us she didn´t want to hear from us anymore and wouldn´t let us in. It turns out her daughter found out about her baptism and went totally crazy. She threatened to not let her Mom see her kids or anything. It hit us pretty hard.
The good news is, we had a baptism, which essentially became our light at the end of the tunnel.
After a few more days, Angela agreed to have us over, and we got back on track. She informed us that she had prayed and was going to get baptized anyway. We told her how happy we were, and then asked her how she was doing with giving up smoking. It turns out that Angela didn´t know that she actually had to be keeping the word of wisdom to be baptized. She just thought it was health advice. One obstacle down, then another rises. It´s quite frustrating.
On Thursday we heard from Elder Bednar. It was an incredible talk. He just answered questions the entire time. I don´t have space for details, but it was amazing.
On Friday, we had the baptism of Karen. She was so ready. Elder Bushman told me it was the first flawless baptism he had ever been to.
Before the service, I had a lot of frustrating things on my mind. The programs weren´t printing. I wasn´t getting help from Elder Bushman. A lot of little things. But once I saw Karen dressed in white, ready to make her first covenant with the Lord, everything fell into perspective.
As we started the service, there was such a distinct spirit, one I hadn´t felt before. We began by singing "A donde me mandes iré" or "I´ll go where you want me to go" I looked down and saw myself dressed in white as we were singing, and thought back to when I quoted that song in my farewell talk. I had no idea how hard it would actually be. I thought of hours of MTC study, and 2 months of confusion in Argentina. I thought of all the heartbreaks in Ensenada. All the frustrating non progressing investigators. All the failed contacts. All the people we had seen flake and fall away from the gospel. And after everything, Karen had persevered through it all. I had never seen such devotion and faith.
I was nervous to actually baptize someone. On top of that Karen had a huge full name. Karen Antonela Predovan Gagnotti. It was hard enough remembering the baptismal prayer. I definitely felt the Lord help me, to make the moment special for her.
I had seen baptisms before. I had seen the 8 year olds go into the font, still innocent, locked to their families and tradition. There was always a sweet spirit there. But to have known Karen before. To see how much she doubted herself, how she couldn´t even believe in God, and now to see her in those waters, words fail me to describe.
A quick plunge, and the sound of rushing waters, a flash of light, and then she emerged. New. Clean. Pure. Should I live a thousand years I will never forget that face. So alive and radiant. The peace of mind that only true repentance brings. Like a thousand pounds had been taken from her back and she now stood relieved. That face that once wept tears of shame and weakness, now stained with tears of joy. That´s the gospel I believe in. That´s the change that you can have. That´s the miracle of peace. Peace of mind that only Christ can bring.
Karen stood and bore a mighty testimony. There was no doubt in my mind that her conversion was real and lasting. That Sunday, she helped teach a gospel principles class. After church, she met with the Bishop, to talk about the mission she was dedicated to serve.
That, my friends, is conversion. That´s a broken heart and a contrite spirit. There is NOTHING the Lord can ask Karen that she won´t do.
My last days in Ensenada were tranquil, and slow. I thought of the growth I had had there. All those that had helped me along. The Angels the Lord had put in my path. This morning, I left. The same way I came. 3 bags, one backpack and a black suit. What changed? It´s not in my luggage, or my worn shoes. It´s in my eyes. And as the bus pulled round the riverbed into the endless green of Argentine fields, I thought of the words to a favorite hymn.
Here I raise my Ebenezer;
Hither by Thy help I’m come;
And I hope, by Thy good pleasure,
Safely to arrive at home.
The fields stretched for miles and miles, as did my mission before my eyes. I knew that trials and adventures countless in number awaited on the horizon. But I also knew that the Lord had guided my paths in Ensenada. And as Samuel of old, I had transformed the little river town to my own spiritual Ebenezer. Symbol of divine help and strength.
God lives. He loves us, and guides us. And if you´re listening you can always hear his voice. He never fails you. Never.
Speaking of Christmas I got the first package today. Props mom on sending it cheap. I don´t know what you did, but you did it right. I only had to pay 4 pesos. To put it into perspective others were paying upwards of 300. The other missionaries were, in book of Mormon terms, "Exceedingly astonished," at my cheap package.
So I was up until 1 30 last night getting my things together. And we were awake at 530 this morning to catch a train to the mission home in Bonfield. I am EXHAUSTED!
So that´s where I am right now, in Bonfield at a random Argentine cyber with a space bar that is making it incredibly difficult to write.
It doesn´t help that I have a TON of things to write about.
I´ve yet to see my new area, and I met my new comp about an hour ago. Elder Valedin. His dad is from Costa Rica, but he grew up in California speaking English in Spanish. So he´s essentially native in both languages. It´s a golden opportunity to really start developing my Castellano. Elder Bushman and I got real lazy with our Spanish speaking.
I´m leaving the stretching fields and tranquil riverbeds of Ensenada for down town Buenos Aires. Our area is HUGE. I´m yet to see it yet, but it is gigantic. It´s going to be a whole new type of adventure. Frankly, I’m a bit nervous. Ensenada was a fairly sheltered tranquil place. Avillevera... well, welcome to the jungle.
Leaving Ensenada was rough. Very rough. I was so content with Elder Bushman. He was a best friend to me, always so easy to get along with. Wonderful members, great atmosphere. I even knew where to buy cheddar cheese!
This week was up and down. At the beginning, we had 3 days straight where all our plans fell through. We still found people to teach, but we were doing a LOT of contacting. It was quite discouraging.
On Monday one of our investigators with a baptismal date, Angela, told us she didn´t want to hear from us anymore and wouldn´t let us in. It turns out her daughter found out about her baptism and went totally crazy. She threatened to not let her Mom see her kids or anything. It hit us pretty hard.
The good news is, we had a baptism, which essentially became our light at the end of the tunnel.
After a few more days, Angela agreed to have us over, and we got back on track. She informed us that she had prayed and was going to get baptized anyway. We told her how happy we were, and then asked her how she was doing with giving up smoking. It turns out that Angela didn´t know that she actually had to be keeping the word of wisdom to be baptized. She just thought it was health advice. One obstacle down, then another rises. It´s quite frustrating.
On Thursday we heard from Elder Bednar. It was an incredible talk. He just answered questions the entire time. I don´t have space for details, but it was amazing.
On Friday, we had the baptism of Karen. She was so ready. Elder Bushman told me it was the first flawless baptism he had ever been to.
Before the service, I had a lot of frustrating things on my mind. The programs weren´t printing. I wasn´t getting help from Elder Bushman. A lot of little things. But once I saw Karen dressed in white, ready to make her first covenant with the Lord, everything fell into perspective.
As we started the service, there was such a distinct spirit, one I hadn´t felt before. We began by singing "A donde me mandes iré" or "I´ll go where you want me to go" I looked down and saw myself dressed in white as we were singing, and thought back to when I quoted that song in my farewell talk. I had no idea how hard it would actually be. I thought of hours of MTC study, and 2 months of confusion in Argentina. I thought of all the heartbreaks in Ensenada. All the frustrating non progressing investigators. All the failed contacts. All the people we had seen flake and fall away from the gospel. And after everything, Karen had persevered through it all. I had never seen such devotion and faith.
I was nervous to actually baptize someone. On top of that Karen had a huge full name. Karen Antonela Predovan Gagnotti. It was hard enough remembering the baptismal prayer. I definitely felt the Lord help me, to make the moment special for her.
I had seen baptisms before. I had seen the 8 year olds go into the font, still innocent, locked to their families and tradition. There was always a sweet spirit there. But to have known Karen before. To see how much she doubted herself, how she couldn´t even believe in God, and now to see her in those waters, words fail me to describe.
A quick plunge, and the sound of rushing waters, a flash of light, and then she emerged. New. Clean. Pure. Should I live a thousand years I will never forget that face. So alive and radiant. The peace of mind that only true repentance brings. Like a thousand pounds had been taken from her back and she now stood relieved. That face that once wept tears of shame and weakness, now stained with tears of joy. That´s the gospel I believe in. That´s the change that you can have. That´s the miracle of peace. Peace of mind that only Christ can bring.
Karen stood and bore a mighty testimony. There was no doubt in my mind that her conversion was real and lasting. That Sunday, she helped teach a gospel principles class. After church, she met with the Bishop, to talk about the mission she was dedicated to serve.
That, my friends, is conversion. That´s a broken heart and a contrite spirit. There is NOTHING the Lord can ask Karen that she won´t do.
My last days in Ensenada were tranquil, and slow. I thought of the growth I had had there. All those that had helped me along. The Angels the Lord had put in my path. This morning, I left. The same way I came. 3 bags, one backpack and a black suit. What changed? It´s not in my luggage, or my worn shoes. It´s in my eyes. And as the bus pulled round the riverbed into the endless green of Argentine fields, I thought of the words to a favorite hymn.
Here I raise my Ebenezer;
Hither by Thy help I’m come;
And I hope, by Thy good pleasure,
Safely to arrive at home.
The fields stretched for miles and miles, as did my mission before my eyes. I knew that trials and adventures countless in number awaited on the horizon. But I also knew that the Lord had guided my paths in Ensenada. And as Samuel of old, I had transformed the little river town to my own spiritual Ebenezer. Symbol of divine help and strength.
God lives. He loves us, and guides us. And if you´re listening you can always hear his voice. He never fails you. Never.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Listo Para Bautizar
If the subject didn´t indicate it, we´re baptizing this week. That´s right. Submerging in water and everything. What missionary work is all about (and all that other kind of important stuff.)
But seriously, Karen is about as listo to get baptized as I’ve ever seen anyone. Seeing as how we´ve only had one baptism prior I don´t have much ground to talk. The point is she´s really ready to get baptized. She informed us yesterday of her desire to serve a mission. I´m so happy for her and the way her life changed. When I arrived, Elder Ponce had had two appointments with her. She was very pessimistic and reclusive. She couldn´t even believe in God. Now she is full of light. She´s always smiling. I love seeing what the Gospel has done to someone.
This week has been fantastic. Probably the best numbers we put up to date.
I don´t know if I told you, but we don´t have any Book of Mormons because the offices didn´t get a new shipment. How hard is doing missionary work without the BOM? The answer is impossible. This week we had three left, and focused on finding families. We managed to still find nine people with three BOMS. Nine people! Que capo eh?
Yesterday Elder Bushman and I took the second round at the roast. This time instead of returning to a smoke filled pension we walked into the sweet smell of slow cooked Argentine Beef. Words in this email fail me to describe how good that roast was. Not to brag or anything, after all, I learned from the best.
We have some new guests in the Pension. No, not other missionaries. Cockroaches. Big, brown, nasty, cockroaches. I love summer. I really do. But these things are ruining my Argentine paradise. I´ll get up in the morning, take out a box of cereal and jump back about five feet as the blasted creature scurries around. Anyone with creative ways to kill these things should email me ASAP. I don´t think I have the stomach to do it again with my foot.
ugh
Anyways.
This week Elder Bednar is coming to the Buenos Aires Missions. We´re all traveling to the capital to hear him speak. It´s very exciting.
So the other day was our zone activity for P-day. We went to our favorite pizza place, Pizza Libre. It features such exotic hits as, hot dog and mustard, french fries, and eggs. Mind you pizza toppings. I love pizza libre, and was intent on getting the most out of my experience. I wanted to eat more pizza libre pizza than I ever had before. I probably ended up eating about 1 and a half pizza libre pizzas, and I felt the consequences. I could barely move. "I´ll never eat pizza again" I promised myself. It was about that time when I realized we had a dinner appointment in four hours with the familia Ochea, who was cooking pizza, and had specifically instructed us to come "very very hungry."
I let out a silent groan of horror as my poor stomach gurgled in protest.
So we went.
And the pizza had anchovies... and eggs. Anchovy and egg pizza. It wasn´t as bad as you would think, but still pretty bad. And with roughly sixteen pounds of pizza libre pizza smoldering in my stomach, I was in no mood to eat ANY MORE PIZZA. But with Hmno Ochea shouting "COMA elder por favor! Usted no ha comido nada!" I ended up eating yet another pizza. I don´t know how I did it, but mind you I did do it.
And I felt like a champion.
Anyways...
All of our investigators are doing well. Marta still isn´t progressing. After another frustrating cita with her, we were ready to drop her to antiguos. We essentially gave her the do or die lesson. We used Alma five and everything. Marta apparently sensed the dire nature of the situation, gave us each a peach as recompense, and showed up to church bright and early on Sunday. With her, we´re not sure if we can drop her. She´s been receiving the discussions for a year now, and just isn´t progressing. Elder Bushman and I settled on just passing by once a week until she can make progress giving up smoking.
With Liliana, the poor investigator who was progressing great, we ran into a wall. She is moving to a different side of Ensenada, and we´re afraid we´re going to lose touch with her.
We had a good finding story the other day. It was in the afternoon, and we had made contacts for the better portion of two hours. Both of us were sick of touching houses. We started talking to a lady who was moderately interested in what we have to say when her husband ran out of the house and started yelling "¡TOMATELA!" over and over again. Essentially translated it means, beat it. His wife really was interested. The next house we went to, it was the same thing, rejection over again in the form of getting yelled at. Finally we saw a man walking into his house down the street. We both felt compelled to talk to him. As we walked closer to his house, I felt my foot sink into something wet and cold. I immediately jumped back and to my horror, realized I had stepped foot in a Sangah, or outdoor sewer. In most places here the sewer just runs to the sides of the street in ditches. This one was fairly concealed. I let out a small yelp, which drew the attention of the man. Upon seeing my situation, he offered to let us come inside. He got a rag out and some water and helped me clean off my shoe. Hearing that we were missionaries, he intuitively listened to a brief recounting of the apostasy and restoration. Long story short we set an appointment and left a Book of Mormon.
Moral of the story
The Lord works in mysterious ways. Sometimes even stepping in a Sangah.
But seriously, Karen is about as listo to get baptized as I’ve ever seen anyone. Seeing as how we´ve only had one baptism prior I don´t have much ground to talk. The point is she´s really ready to get baptized. She informed us yesterday of her desire to serve a mission. I´m so happy for her and the way her life changed. When I arrived, Elder Ponce had had two appointments with her. She was very pessimistic and reclusive. She couldn´t even believe in God. Now she is full of light. She´s always smiling. I love seeing what the Gospel has done to someone.
This week has been fantastic. Probably the best numbers we put up to date.
I don´t know if I told you, but we don´t have any Book of Mormons because the offices didn´t get a new shipment. How hard is doing missionary work without the BOM? The answer is impossible. This week we had three left, and focused on finding families. We managed to still find nine people with three BOMS. Nine people! Que capo eh?
Yesterday Elder Bushman and I took the second round at the roast. This time instead of returning to a smoke filled pension we walked into the sweet smell of slow cooked Argentine Beef. Words in this email fail me to describe how good that roast was. Not to brag or anything, after all, I learned from the best.
We have some new guests in the Pension. No, not other missionaries. Cockroaches. Big, brown, nasty, cockroaches. I love summer. I really do. But these things are ruining my Argentine paradise. I´ll get up in the morning, take out a box of cereal and jump back about five feet as the blasted creature scurries around. Anyone with creative ways to kill these things should email me ASAP. I don´t think I have the stomach to do it again with my foot.
ugh
Anyways.
This week Elder Bednar is coming to the Buenos Aires Missions. We´re all traveling to the capital to hear him speak. It´s very exciting.
So the other day was our zone activity for P-day. We went to our favorite pizza place, Pizza Libre. It features such exotic hits as, hot dog and mustard, french fries, and eggs. Mind you pizza toppings. I love pizza libre, and was intent on getting the most out of my experience. I wanted to eat more pizza libre pizza than I ever had before. I probably ended up eating about 1 and a half pizza libre pizzas, and I felt the consequences. I could barely move. "I´ll never eat pizza again" I promised myself. It was about that time when I realized we had a dinner appointment in four hours with the familia Ochea, who was cooking pizza, and had specifically instructed us to come "very very hungry."
I let out a silent groan of horror as my poor stomach gurgled in protest.
So we went.
And the pizza had anchovies... and eggs. Anchovy and egg pizza. It wasn´t as bad as you would think, but still pretty bad. And with roughly sixteen pounds of pizza libre pizza smoldering in my stomach, I was in no mood to eat ANY MORE PIZZA. But with Hmno Ochea shouting "COMA elder por favor! Usted no ha comido nada!" I ended up eating yet another pizza. I don´t know how I did it, but mind you I did do it.
And I felt like a champion.
Anyways...
All of our investigators are doing well. Marta still isn´t progressing. After another frustrating cita with her, we were ready to drop her to antiguos. We essentially gave her the do or die lesson. We used Alma five and everything. Marta apparently sensed the dire nature of the situation, gave us each a peach as recompense, and showed up to church bright and early on Sunday. With her, we´re not sure if we can drop her. She´s been receiving the discussions for a year now, and just isn´t progressing. Elder Bushman and I settled on just passing by once a week until she can make progress giving up smoking.
With Liliana, the poor investigator who was progressing great, we ran into a wall. She is moving to a different side of Ensenada, and we´re afraid we´re going to lose touch with her.
We had a good finding story the other day. It was in the afternoon, and we had made contacts for the better portion of two hours. Both of us were sick of touching houses. We started talking to a lady who was moderately interested in what we have to say when her husband ran out of the house and started yelling "¡TOMATELA!" over and over again. Essentially translated it means, beat it. His wife really was interested. The next house we went to, it was the same thing, rejection over again in the form of getting yelled at. Finally we saw a man walking into his house down the street. We both felt compelled to talk to him. As we walked closer to his house, I felt my foot sink into something wet and cold. I immediately jumped back and to my horror, realized I had stepped foot in a Sangah, or outdoor sewer. In most places here the sewer just runs to the sides of the street in ditches. This one was fairly concealed. I let out a small yelp, which drew the attention of the man. Upon seeing my situation, he offered to let us come inside. He got a rag out and some water and helped me clean off my shoe. Hearing that we were missionaries, he intuitively listened to a brief recounting of the apostasy and restoration. Long story short we set an appointment and left a Book of Mormon.
Moral of the story
The Lord works in mysterious ways. Sometimes even stepping in a Sangah.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Cerca al fin
I´m nearing the end of my second transfer. What does that mean? It means I´m probably getting transferred. As a matter of fact I´m almost positive.
As to the people that have been asking me if I can see stars, I think you grossly underestimate the pollution of the Argentine sky. It´s very dark here when the lights go out. But tonight I´ll climb up to the top of the pension (there´s stairs mom, don´t worry) and take a look.
It´s taken us four weeks, but me and Elder Bushman have finally got things running where we want them. We have set weekly appointments with all our progressing investigators, and a clean updated area book. Now the work is on fire. We should be pushing seven baptisms by the end of December, hopefully more. The bad news is... I´m only going to baptize Karen and then get transferred.
Ok Ok Ok Ok. A transfer at this point is mas o menos a foregone conclusion. Usually how it works is North Americans or foreign speakers get two transfers in their first area and then, chow (however you actually spell that.)
We had a solid fecha with one of our best investigators, Angela, for November 19. But, as it turns out, Elder Bednar is coming to all the Buenos Aires missions to address us. It´s exciting to say the least. But heartbreaking for me as I won´t actually see her enter the waters of baptism. She was so prepared.
As a matter of fact, Angela has a fantastic story behind her.
She´s about 50-60 years old, and was suffering from the death of her husband a few months prior. She was looking for religion, but had settled on a mix of Hindu and her own beliefs. Some twisted form of reincarnation. Upon experiencing a large trial in her life (she´s yet to specify) she got down on her knees and prayed to God to send her a sign, send her something to help her.
The next day, Angela went to her niece’s house to babysit, where a frustrated Elder Ponce and a slightly less frustrated Elder Jensen were fruitlessly making contacts. We passed by and gave her a pamphlet about the plan of salvation. She couldn´t let us in, but apparently we left a good impression.
When we actually passed by her house, she had a bit of apprehension, tried to convince us that she had her own beliefs and didn´t need an organized religion. After a bit of persuasion, she let us in.
Fast forward about a month and a half.
Angela started reading the Book of Mormon on her own, and has read all the way through Mosiah at this point. She loves sharing the stories with me, especially about Alma and the Sons of Mosiah. She isn´t forced to read, she wants to. She received an answer by persistently reading. When I see investigators like Angela, it shows me what Moroni really meant when he wrote "ask with a sincere heart, having real intent."
Angela, not wanting to go to church on her own, brought her granddaughter, Mocarena, who sits in with the discussions and recently told us that she received an answer that the Book of Mormon is true. She´ll probably get baptized shortly after Angela does.
But it doesn´t stop there.
A friend of Angela noticed the change that had taken place, and asked her why she´s so happy all the time. "What happened?" Angela explained about the missionary discussions, and about the Book of Mormon. Her friend is going to come to our next visit. Along with Angela´s daughter if she can move work around.
AND SO....
the moral of the story is this.
When Elder Ponce and I found Angela, we didn´t have a spiritual prompting. We didn´t hear a voice. We didn´t see a light. We were just working. Doing what we usually did. The point is, when we do what we´re supposed to, when we´re obedient, our steps are guided.
I´ve learned that in missionary work, that if we are obedient, we don´t have to worry about whether it´s the still small voice, or just ourselves, our steps are guided. We find people that are ready to receive us, that are prepared to listen. We see miracles, even if it just seems like our normal routine.
Thus the moral of the story is, be obedient. Study your scriptures, say your prayers, and go to church. You know the cliché stuff. Then when the opportunity comes, you´ll be in the right place. God is over all. There is a purpose in everything we do, sometimes even in the mistakes we make. In the end, when the chips have fallen, and the accounting is made, the only thing we can really say for ourselves is that we were obedient and when someone needed a miracle we were there.
As to the people that have been asking me if I can see stars, I think you grossly underestimate the pollution of the Argentine sky. It´s very dark here when the lights go out. But tonight I´ll climb up to the top of the pension (there´s stairs mom, don´t worry) and take a look.
It´s taken us four weeks, but me and Elder Bushman have finally got things running where we want them. We have set weekly appointments with all our progressing investigators, and a clean updated area book. Now the work is on fire. We should be pushing seven baptisms by the end of December, hopefully more. The bad news is... I´m only going to baptize Karen and then get transferred.
Ok Ok Ok Ok. A transfer at this point is mas o menos a foregone conclusion. Usually how it works is North Americans or foreign speakers get two transfers in their first area and then, chow (however you actually spell that.)
We had a solid fecha with one of our best investigators, Angela, for November 19. But, as it turns out, Elder Bednar is coming to all the Buenos Aires missions to address us. It´s exciting to say the least. But heartbreaking for me as I won´t actually see her enter the waters of baptism. She was so prepared.
As a matter of fact, Angela has a fantastic story behind her.
She´s about 50-60 years old, and was suffering from the death of her husband a few months prior. She was looking for religion, but had settled on a mix of Hindu and her own beliefs. Some twisted form of reincarnation. Upon experiencing a large trial in her life (she´s yet to specify) she got down on her knees and prayed to God to send her a sign, send her something to help her.
The next day, Angela went to her niece’s house to babysit, where a frustrated Elder Ponce and a slightly less frustrated Elder Jensen were fruitlessly making contacts. We passed by and gave her a pamphlet about the plan of salvation. She couldn´t let us in, but apparently we left a good impression.
When we actually passed by her house, she had a bit of apprehension, tried to convince us that she had her own beliefs and didn´t need an organized religion. After a bit of persuasion, she let us in.
Fast forward about a month and a half.
Angela started reading the Book of Mormon on her own, and has read all the way through Mosiah at this point. She loves sharing the stories with me, especially about Alma and the Sons of Mosiah. She isn´t forced to read, she wants to. She received an answer by persistently reading. When I see investigators like Angela, it shows me what Moroni really meant when he wrote "ask with a sincere heart, having real intent."
Angela, not wanting to go to church on her own, brought her granddaughter, Mocarena, who sits in with the discussions and recently told us that she received an answer that the Book of Mormon is true. She´ll probably get baptized shortly after Angela does.
But it doesn´t stop there.
A friend of Angela noticed the change that had taken place, and asked her why she´s so happy all the time. "What happened?" Angela explained about the missionary discussions, and about the Book of Mormon. Her friend is going to come to our next visit. Along with Angela´s daughter if she can move work around.
AND SO....
the moral of the story is this.
When Elder Ponce and I found Angela, we didn´t have a spiritual prompting. We didn´t hear a voice. We didn´t see a light. We were just working. Doing what we usually did. The point is, when we do what we´re supposed to, when we´re obedient, our steps are guided.
I´ve learned that in missionary work, that if we are obedient, we don´t have to worry about whether it´s the still small voice, or just ourselves, our steps are guided. We find people that are ready to receive us, that are prepared to listen. We see miracles, even if it just seems like our normal routine.
Thus the moral of the story is, be obedient. Study your scriptures, say your prayers, and go to church. You know the cliché stuff. Then when the opportunity comes, you´ll be in the right place. God is over all. There is a purpose in everything we do, sometimes even in the mistakes we make. In the end, when the chips have fallen, and the accounting is made, the only thing we can really say for ourselves is that we were obedient and when someone needed a miracle we were there.
Monday, November 2, 2009
La Diferencia
This week was another solid week in Ensenada. I never cease to learn the principles of missionary work here. The longer I stay here, the more attached I get. Leaving this place in three weeks is going to be a heartbreaker. There´s always the chance I´ll get a third transfer here, but it´s unlikely.
At the very least, I´ll be baptizing Karen possibly the last week I´m here. She has truly been the story of Ensenada. I guess what you have to understand about her to understand why I keep referencing her is she truly did receive a mighty change of heart. A few weeks ago she couldn´t even believe in God, all of the sudden she has one of the strongest testimonies of the Gospel I´ve ever seen. She´s firm and unshakable in her faith. Me and Elder Bushman sit back in our meetings and marvel at what the Lord has done with her.
Additionally, we took out another baptismal date with a woman we found last transfer. Angela. I think what´s so special to me about Angela is I was there when she was found. I can´t say that about many others. She was a grandmother coping with the death of her husband. When we came to her house this week we found that she had read all the way through Mosiah in the Book of Mormon, and told us that she knew it had come of God. We subsequently committed her to be baptized.
This week we did a lot of contacting in the poorer areas of Ensenada. There´s poor and then there´s third world poor. The villa. It´s a field off to the side of Ensenada with a bunch of wooden boxes springing up. At first glance, you think their stables for animals. Then you realize their houses. I was more humbled than I’ve ever been. I have been so blessed in my life. So incredibly blessed.
We found a woman there, Liliana, who immediately let us in. We left a copy of the Book of Mormon, and upon returning she told us she knew it was true. Even though she couldn´t understand it, when she read it she felt peace in her dire circumstances. We testified that was the Holy Ghost bearing witness of the truth. We´re going to set a baptismal date with her in about fifteen minutes.
This and other circumstances have reiterated a powerful quote from preach my gospel. "Regardless of circumstance, all people are best helped as they come to receive the restored Gospel."
Contrast the above experiences, with the following.
We ran into an old investigator while contacting close to the forest side of Ensenada. His name was Marcos, and was eager to let us in. To our dismay, we found out quickly he was more interested in talking about U.S. politics than he was talking about the gospel. We managed to get a flimsy commitment to read and pray. When we returned, he told us how he had read the introduction and how fascinating the historical origin of the book was. He wanted to know where he could find the gold plates so he could verify if it was true. We explained that the gold plates had been taken back into the heavens by the Angel Moroni, and the way we can know if the book is true is by asking of God. He became very doubtful, and lectured us on the implausibility of it all, telling us that if there really was a prophet of God on the earth today, he needed a sign to believe it. He refused to read and pray, so we told him that we couldn´t pass by until he was going to make an effort to find out if these things were true. He had no interest in them. No desire to change. He said he was content where he was spiritually, and we were ignorant and being deceived.
The irony is, the Book of Mormon speaks directly to men like him.
I realized about then, the great wisdom of God. Because if people could feel the gold plates, if they could see with their eyes the mysteries of God without searching, they would look with their eyes. Look for their reason for assurance. There is only one way to know if this message is true, and that´s through God Himself. And those who are learned and prideful will never receive a witness of spiritual things. Even if the signs were laid out before their eyes they still wouldn´t believe. The Book of Mormon teaches us many times that seeing is clearly not believing. (Alma 5:40-46 (I´m pretty sure it´s somewhere in there), 1 Nephi 3 (end of the chapter).
The truth is everyone has doubts. We don´t have a perfect knowledge. We´re not supposed to. The difference comes between the ones who are humble enough to suspend disbelief and tred into the dark, and the ones who choose instead a God after their own design. A religion that tells them what they want to believe, not what they need to become.
Regardless, I´ve received a considerably greater witness of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. It feels like this week especially I´ve had to defend it. And I love doing so. I know it´s true. I love that book. I love the precepts and the testimonies. I love the prophets and the doctrine. And especially, I love the testimonies of Christ, and more specifically the atonement. It is central to missionary work. Truly the keystone of our religion.
At the very least, I´ll be baptizing Karen possibly the last week I´m here. She has truly been the story of Ensenada. I guess what you have to understand about her to understand why I keep referencing her is she truly did receive a mighty change of heart. A few weeks ago she couldn´t even believe in God, all of the sudden she has one of the strongest testimonies of the Gospel I´ve ever seen. She´s firm and unshakable in her faith. Me and Elder Bushman sit back in our meetings and marvel at what the Lord has done with her.
Additionally, we took out another baptismal date with a woman we found last transfer. Angela. I think what´s so special to me about Angela is I was there when she was found. I can´t say that about many others. She was a grandmother coping with the death of her husband. When we came to her house this week we found that she had read all the way through Mosiah in the Book of Mormon, and told us that she knew it had come of God. We subsequently committed her to be baptized.
This week we did a lot of contacting in the poorer areas of Ensenada. There´s poor and then there´s third world poor. The villa. It´s a field off to the side of Ensenada with a bunch of wooden boxes springing up. At first glance, you think their stables for animals. Then you realize their houses. I was more humbled than I’ve ever been. I have been so blessed in my life. So incredibly blessed.
We found a woman there, Liliana, who immediately let us in. We left a copy of the Book of Mormon, and upon returning she told us she knew it was true. Even though she couldn´t understand it, when she read it she felt peace in her dire circumstances. We testified that was the Holy Ghost bearing witness of the truth. We´re going to set a baptismal date with her in about fifteen minutes.
This and other circumstances have reiterated a powerful quote from preach my gospel. "Regardless of circumstance, all people are best helped as they come to receive the restored Gospel."
Contrast the above experiences, with the following.
We ran into an old investigator while contacting close to the forest side of Ensenada. His name was Marcos, and was eager to let us in. To our dismay, we found out quickly he was more interested in talking about U.S. politics than he was talking about the gospel. We managed to get a flimsy commitment to read and pray. When we returned, he told us how he had read the introduction and how fascinating the historical origin of the book was. He wanted to know where he could find the gold plates so he could verify if it was true. We explained that the gold plates had been taken back into the heavens by the Angel Moroni, and the way we can know if the book is true is by asking of God. He became very doubtful, and lectured us on the implausibility of it all, telling us that if there really was a prophet of God on the earth today, he needed a sign to believe it. He refused to read and pray, so we told him that we couldn´t pass by until he was going to make an effort to find out if these things were true. He had no interest in them. No desire to change. He said he was content where he was spiritually, and we were ignorant and being deceived.
The irony is, the Book of Mormon speaks directly to men like him.
I realized about then, the great wisdom of God. Because if people could feel the gold plates, if they could see with their eyes the mysteries of God without searching, they would look with their eyes. Look for their reason for assurance. There is only one way to know if this message is true, and that´s through God Himself. And those who are learned and prideful will never receive a witness of spiritual things. Even if the signs were laid out before their eyes they still wouldn´t believe. The Book of Mormon teaches us many times that seeing is clearly not believing. (Alma 5:40-46 (I´m pretty sure it´s somewhere in there), 1 Nephi 3 (end of the chapter).
The truth is everyone has doubts. We don´t have a perfect knowledge. We´re not supposed to. The difference comes between the ones who are humble enough to suspend disbelief and tred into the dark, and the ones who choose instead a God after their own design. A religion that tells them what they want to believe, not what they need to become.
Regardless, I´ve received a considerably greater witness of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. It feels like this week especially I´ve had to defend it. And I love doing so. I know it´s true. I love that book. I love the precepts and the testimonies. I love the prophets and the doctrine. And especially, I love the testimonies of Christ, and more specifically the atonement. It is central to missionary work. Truly the keystone of our religion.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
The Bushman/Jensen system
This week was a lot like last week. I find things are a lot less dramatic with a North American companion. Less dramatic is definitely a good thing in mission work. After the painfully reclusive Elder Coats, and the solely Spanish speaking Ponce, Elder Bushman is a first class comp. He´s actually me, from a different walk of life. I´m convinced we´re the same person. Which is funny because I have been known to say I would never want to live with myself, because I would drive myself crazy. Quite the contrary, I find living with my other side somewhat alleviating to say the least. Especially when the work is so difficult. It makes the Pension a sanctuary. A beautiful English speaking sanctuary.
Allow me to explain further. Consider this quote.
"I don´t consider myself pessimistic, but sometimes I predict the worst so I won´t be disappointed when it happens."
Sound familiar?
That was directly from Elder Bushman. And that´s when I knew we were brothers.
From a self taught pianist who half heartedly pushed his way through high school band wishing to be somewhere else, to having the hamburger song from veggie tales unashamedly memorized, Elder Bushman is me. Albeit a slightly altered me (you can thank Spanish Fork for that) But me nonetheless.
Ok, so enough about Elder Bushman. Things are going fantastic here. The initial shell shock of elder Ponce´s departure has worn off, and the Bushman Jensen system has been put in place in Ensenada. We´re putting up numbers. Finding, contacting, teaching. And, as of November 20th, and quite possibly sooner, baptizing.
So a little more about Karen.
This week we had an appointment, and she finally decided on a date. The 20th of November. She also decided on someone to baptize her. In the moment, I was readily expecting her to pick Elder Bushman. His Spanish being supreme. I was shocked and humbled when she said, "I´ve chosen someone so profound, with so much faith... Elder Jensen."
It was a sacred moment. One of those moments that lets me know why I´m here. One of those moments that starts to outweigh how hard the past four months have been.
When we went into Karen´s house for that appointment, it was clear skies, muggy and humid. Very hot. When we left, it was so dark I couldn´t see my hand in front of my face. A storm had moved in over the small space of an hour.
This storm was unlike any I had ever seen. Thick darkness, and then above, lightning constantly rolling across the heavens. We tried to get on the bikes, but with little success as we could barely see the paths in front of us illuminated. I felt like I was in a movie.
The weather here is crazy. Honestly disturbing.
Anyways, I guess the best way to describe me right now is content. Content with Ensenada, content with my companion and my investigators. Content on a mission only really ever means one thing. Everything is about to turn upside down.
Love you so much everyone. Thank you for your support and letters and everything!
Monday, October 19, 2009
Le fe Perfecta
With Elder Ponce leaving, I´ve inherited a mess. Elder Ponce did missionary work with his head, not with paper. So Elder Bushman and I have been building Ensenada from the ground up.
A little about Elder Bushman
He has a chip and dell smile complimented by an even part about three fourths down his head. He stands around 6 feet, lanky build, almost as skinny as I am. His voice sounds exactly like Bob the tomato from veggie tales, which is frankly distracting when he´s sharing a scriptural thought....
Elder Bushman is frankly Mr. Everything. Kind of funny with his reserved personality. I think he´s me, from an alternate dimension. He was student body pres of Spanish fork high school, madrigals pres, pres of just about everything else. But has little or no care for his former life. Things kind of came easy for him.
Our mutual past differences aren´t important. What is important is that I finally have someone to talk to. Like really talk to. After a reclusive Elder Coats, and a Chileno Elder Ponce, it´s strange to be able to say exactly what´s on my mind to someone who can actually understand what I’m feeling. I feel like my companion is, well, a friend now. A real friend. Not a forced one.
Anyways, Elder Bushman has been here 8 months. This is his first time being senior comp. And this is my first time without a trainer. So we´re both.... lost to say the least. We´ve had to separate the wheat from the tares of the investigators so to speak.
Ok, so I love the work that Elder Ponce did here, but the bottom line is that plans in the head don´t translate to plans in the area book. We´ve had to rebuild things here. Frankly, I don´t know what we did for the past six weeks here. Elder Ponce just knew where to go. I feel bad I haven´t been able to help Elder Bushman more, but at the same time, it´s been a great experience to actually have to figure things out for myself.
Now that I can understand what my companion says, I can actually help teach the lessons. Not just a spiritual thought and testimony, actually teach.
So our investigators right now, well we don´t exactly know. We´re still trying to find some of them. Let all the Elders within reach of this email understand the importance of keeping an organized updated area book.
Ok, so I know our most frequent and our most progressing. Marta is at a brick wall. She can´t give up smoking. We don´t know what to do with her because she keeps her commitments to read, just has no faith in her ability to dejar de fumar. Now she is trying to find fault in the church. She knows it´s true, but she doesn´t want to quit smoking. So she´s trying to convince herself it´s false so she doesn´t have to. We had a baptismal date with her, but now she´s headed to square one.
Dante also had a date, but he´s living with his wife unmarried, Yamila. She´s the older sister of Mario, the ward member who helped me through a rough spot a few weeks ago. Yamila is a less active member, but they both want this for their kids, so their working to get the paperwork. All the divorce stuff is very complicated.
Nora had a baptismal date, but has gone completely backwards over the past few weeks, to the point of not being able to keep her commitments to read and pray. She has such a big heart, but we´re going to have to drop her if she can´t make time to keep her commitments. It´s tragic--one of the hardest parts of missionary work.
Olga is a recent convert who has decided she knows everything she needs to about the gospel, so she doesn´t need to go to church. Pride has worked its way into her life, and she thinks that God has something more in store for her. In reality she´s depressed that Elder Ponce had to go, and refuses to pay her tithing. Personally I think she got baptized for him. Elder Bushman and I have tried to work with her this week, but she refuses to attach herself to anyone but Ponce.
Then there´s Ruben, the carpenter who knows it´s true, but he´s living with his girlfriend, needs to get divorced, and refuses to pay tithing. Kind of a combination of all the problems. Big spirit, but doesn´t want to do what it takes. ´Keeps all his commitments though and goes to church every Sunday.
And in the veritable cereal box of our investigators, there´s the precious prize at the bottom. Karen.
Yes Karen. The 23 year old atheist who never progressed over 6 weeks and said she could never change. Gothic. Ex Jehovah’s witness mom. Not exactly cookie cutter investigator.
Rewind the clock about 18 years. A member of our Bishopric, Hermano Marchoni is having good conversation with a Jehovah’s Witness and her small daughter. He gives the girl a Book of Mormon and leaves frustrated forgetting about it. That little girl is Karen. Even though she never read that Book of Mormon, the seed was there. Fast-forward about 18 years.
The missionaries contact Karen who wouldn´t otherwise have received them except for recognition of the representatives who talked to her so long ago. She invites them to come in and dusts off her old Book of Mormon that was placed by a faithful member so long ago. She is interested in the missionaries, likes their spirit and conversation, but doesn´t think she can believe in god.
Fast-forward about six weeks.
Karen is in tears, torn between one path or the other. Receptive to the missionary message. But still can´t believe in it for certain. Can´t believe it enough to change her life. The missionaries share their testimony of the atonement, and the mighty change it can bring. That she doesn´t have to be alone, she can find peace through the sacrifice of the savior, and have the strength to follow his path. Subsequently inspired, Karen gets down on her knees like she had so many times before over the past six weeks, praying to a God she still couldn´t believe in, looking for something definitive, a reason to change.
And after six weeks of reading, searching, pondering, and praying, she gets her answer.
Karen´s life changes. Light floods her eyes and her complexion. She goes to church much to the surprise of the missionaries, fueled by an insatiable desire to learn more. The prospect of change is no longer difficult; it is what she knows to be true.
Finally the missionaries want her to show her change. To follow the example of her savior and take the first step on the path of a new life. The one who can speak barely a word of Spanish, asks her to be baptized. She answers without hesitation and with fervent zeal. "Yes, it is my purpose."
If you haven´t figured it out, the missionary who asked Karen to be baptized was me. And that response is the authentic one. "Yes, it is my purpose." I´ll never forget it. As long as I live. Karen worked so hard to get her answer, but now that she has it her heart has changed. She is firm and unshakable in faith. Truly a miracle. I started to cry right there in our appointment. "I´ve never seen faith like this."
That experience, as was conveyed above, was the accumulation of little things someone did to prepare another to receive the gospel. Little seeds that were planted. To me Karen´s story is pretty unbelievable. But sometimes God does some pretty unbelievable things. But sometimes it´s not in the way you expect. It´s the little things. Over a lot of time. And maybe, if you’re listening closely, you can be the hands of God, an angel to someone who needs a big miracle, in a small way. Little things we do under the influence of the spirit may in fact have lasting influence in the eternities to come. And if you’re living faithful, you can say that you were there when someone´s soul was on the line. Not as a hero who has the eyes of the world, as a stranger who nobody saw. I can´t claim a lot to the miracle that is becoming Karen´s story. I can only say when God called, I was there.
A little about Elder Bushman
He has a chip and dell smile complimented by an even part about three fourths down his head. He stands around 6 feet, lanky build, almost as skinny as I am. His voice sounds exactly like Bob the tomato from veggie tales, which is frankly distracting when he´s sharing a scriptural thought....
Elder Bushman is frankly Mr. Everything. Kind of funny with his reserved personality. I think he´s me, from an alternate dimension. He was student body pres of Spanish fork high school, madrigals pres, pres of just about everything else. But has little or no care for his former life. Things kind of came easy for him.
Our mutual past differences aren´t important. What is important is that I finally have someone to talk to. Like really talk to. After a reclusive Elder Coats, and a Chileno Elder Ponce, it´s strange to be able to say exactly what´s on my mind to someone who can actually understand what I’m feeling. I feel like my companion is, well, a friend now. A real friend. Not a forced one.
Anyways, Elder Bushman has been here 8 months. This is his first time being senior comp. And this is my first time without a trainer. So we´re both.... lost to say the least. We´ve had to separate the wheat from the tares of the investigators so to speak.
Ok, so I love the work that Elder Ponce did here, but the bottom line is that plans in the head don´t translate to plans in the area book. We´ve had to rebuild things here. Frankly, I don´t know what we did for the past six weeks here. Elder Ponce just knew where to go. I feel bad I haven´t been able to help Elder Bushman more, but at the same time, it´s been a great experience to actually have to figure things out for myself.
Now that I can understand what my companion says, I can actually help teach the lessons. Not just a spiritual thought and testimony, actually teach.
So our investigators right now, well we don´t exactly know. We´re still trying to find some of them. Let all the Elders within reach of this email understand the importance of keeping an organized updated area book.
Ok, so I know our most frequent and our most progressing. Marta is at a brick wall. She can´t give up smoking. We don´t know what to do with her because she keeps her commitments to read, just has no faith in her ability to dejar de fumar. Now she is trying to find fault in the church. She knows it´s true, but she doesn´t want to quit smoking. So she´s trying to convince herself it´s false so she doesn´t have to. We had a baptismal date with her, but now she´s headed to square one.
Dante also had a date, but he´s living with his wife unmarried, Yamila. She´s the older sister of Mario, the ward member who helped me through a rough spot a few weeks ago. Yamila is a less active member, but they both want this for their kids, so their working to get the paperwork. All the divorce stuff is very complicated.
Nora had a baptismal date, but has gone completely backwards over the past few weeks, to the point of not being able to keep her commitments to read and pray. She has such a big heart, but we´re going to have to drop her if she can´t make time to keep her commitments. It´s tragic--one of the hardest parts of missionary work.
Olga is a recent convert who has decided she knows everything she needs to about the gospel, so she doesn´t need to go to church. Pride has worked its way into her life, and she thinks that God has something more in store for her. In reality she´s depressed that Elder Ponce had to go, and refuses to pay her tithing. Personally I think she got baptized for him. Elder Bushman and I have tried to work with her this week, but she refuses to attach herself to anyone but Ponce.
Then there´s Ruben, the carpenter who knows it´s true, but he´s living with his girlfriend, needs to get divorced, and refuses to pay tithing. Kind of a combination of all the problems. Big spirit, but doesn´t want to do what it takes. ´Keeps all his commitments though and goes to church every Sunday.
And in the veritable cereal box of our investigators, there´s the precious prize at the bottom. Karen.
Yes Karen. The 23 year old atheist who never progressed over 6 weeks and said she could never change. Gothic. Ex Jehovah’s witness mom. Not exactly cookie cutter investigator.
Rewind the clock about 18 years. A member of our Bishopric, Hermano Marchoni is having good conversation with a Jehovah’s Witness and her small daughter. He gives the girl a Book of Mormon and leaves frustrated forgetting about it. That little girl is Karen. Even though she never read that Book of Mormon, the seed was there. Fast-forward about 18 years.
The missionaries contact Karen who wouldn´t otherwise have received them except for recognition of the representatives who talked to her so long ago. She invites them to come in and dusts off her old Book of Mormon that was placed by a faithful member so long ago. She is interested in the missionaries, likes their spirit and conversation, but doesn´t think she can believe in god.
Fast-forward about six weeks.
Karen is in tears, torn between one path or the other. Receptive to the missionary message. But still can´t believe in it for certain. Can´t believe it enough to change her life. The missionaries share their testimony of the atonement, and the mighty change it can bring. That she doesn´t have to be alone, she can find peace through the sacrifice of the savior, and have the strength to follow his path. Subsequently inspired, Karen gets down on her knees like she had so many times before over the past six weeks, praying to a God she still couldn´t believe in, looking for something definitive, a reason to change.
And after six weeks of reading, searching, pondering, and praying, she gets her answer.
Karen´s life changes. Light floods her eyes and her complexion. She goes to church much to the surprise of the missionaries, fueled by an insatiable desire to learn more. The prospect of change is no longer difficult; it is what she knows to be true.
Finally the missionaries want her to show her change. To follow the example of her savior and take the first step on the path of a new life. The one who can speak barely a word of Spanish, asks her to be baptized. She answers without hesitation and with fervent zeal. "Yes, it is my purpose."
If you haven´t figured it out, the missionary who asked Karen to be baptized was me. And that response is the authentic one. "Yes, it is my purpose." I´ll never forget it. As long as I live. Karen worked so hard to get her answer, but now that she has it her heart has changed. She is firm and unshakable in faith. Truly a miracle. I started to cry right there in our appointment. "I´ve never seen faith like this."
That experience, as was conveyed above, was the accumulation of little things someone did to prepare another to receive the gospel. Little seeds that were planted. To me Karen´s story is pretty unbelievable. But sometimes God does some pretty unbelievable things. But sometimes it´s not in the way you expect. It´s the little things. Over a lot of time. And maybe, if you’re listening closely, you can be the hands of God, an angel to someone who needs a big miracle, in a small way. Little things we do under the influence of the spirit may in fact have lasting influence in the eternities to come. And if you’re living faithful, you can say that you were there when someone´s soul was on the line. Not as a hero who has the eyes of the world, as a stranger who nobody saw. I can´t claim a lot to the miracle that is becoming Karen´s story. I can only say when God called, I was there.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Along for the Ride
This week has been solid. Ensenada has been cold for four weeks since our only baptism, but all of the sudden the fruits of our labor are finally coming to bloom.
Elder Ponce engineered a Noche de Cine for a ward activity to watch kung fu panda. Obedient, disobedient, I don´t really know. And I can´t exactly express my concerns. So I washed my hands of the situation and just buckled down for the ride.
"Elder Jensen:
Along for the ride"
I like to compare my experience to the first transfer to wake boarding. Only my wrists are tied to the boat. Whether I´m in the wake cruising, or being dragged behind, the boat is going. Indeed, along for the ride.
Anyways, I had my doubts about cinema night. But about half the ward showed up, to my surprise, and two of our most important progressing investigators.
Hmno Marchoni tried to write a welcome message in English on the blackboard at the entrance to the chapel. Turned into something like "Welcome to night of the home" or something like that. Not sure where that was derived from still...
Anyways the night was a huge success. Except in the closing moments of the film, torrents of rain started falling outside. Not rain in the typical sense. Rain like I had never seen before. Like that one time that we were in Nauvoo and it started pouring. Worse than that. So bad we couldn´t hear anything above the sound of water crashing into the steel roof.
So we ended up waiting for our investigators to hire a cab. And didn´t get back to the pension at 11.
When we arrived, the main floor of our pension was soaked in water, minor flooding. I don´t keep any of my things on the floor, and they pretty much designed to flood. They´re tile and angled down toward a drain. Complete with a squeegee (spelling) and everything. Flooding is kind of expected here.
That night Elder Wells called with the transfers. Elder Ponce had told me he didn´t think he was going anywhere, and I had confidence. He had 8 months already in Ensenada. There was no reason to believe he would head out now. As he read the list of transfers our entire district was turned upside down. It reminded me of the MTC days when every week another group of our best friends flew out. Amidst the radical changes, I was grateful I had finally settled into Ensenada, found my place with Elder Ponce. And then, it happened.
"And Elder Ponce," read Elder Wells, "You're going to report to Romero on Monday"
And just like that, everything was upside down all over again.
Sunday was a looooooong day. Prepping to take the reins of Ensenada was a frightening prospect. As we sat in the ward testimony meeting, I looked around at his work, how many lives he had touched. His hands were worn in their service. He loved them, and they loved him. I was scared. Scared I couldn´t live up to that kind of trust. I felt like Gary Crowton taking over after Lavell Edwards, a feeling, which for you cougar fans filled me with some frightful prospects concerning the destiny of my area.
Karen, the investigator that came the night before, shocked us by coming to church as well. Mind you, this is the same Karen that openly professed atheism to us over and over. When Elder Ponce found her, she was gothic, and her mom a former Jehovah’s Witness. Not exactly your cookie cutter missionary investigator. Earlier that week she was in tears during our visit, telling us how she couldn´t change.
After church that day, we went to her house so Elder Ponce could say goodbye. Karen had changed. She was determined to do something with her life. I saw a miracle with her. She asked us, "What are the requirements to serve a mission?" I kid you not; she was seriously investigating the prospect of serving an LDS mission. We explained that she had to be baptized first, which didn´t seem to faze her. What had changed? What in the world had happened that week?
To be honest, I’m still wondering that same thing. The night before, amidst the torrents of rain she told us how much she hated that people didn´t care about where they´re going, where they came from, or purpose in life. During our visit, she expressed holding the Book of Mormon how much she wanted to use her intelligence to do good. With sincerity, to turn her life over to God.
I look to Mosiah 5:2 for the explanation. I am yet to confirm it, but I can already tell. Karen had a change of heart. She found something, a testimony, a purpose, a love of God. A faithful vision that where she felt dissatisfied with whom she was, she could find direction by turning her life over to a greater cause. A truly mighty change of heart. I´ve never seen an investigator turn around like that.
Ensenada is on fire. Spring is here, and with the blossoms of the season come the blossoms of our labors as well.
It´s a shame that Elder Ponce has to leave so soon, and when so much is looking up for us. Now I´m with Elder Bushman, a lanky North American from Spanish fork. As of about 2 hours ago. I´m yet to be able to give a full assessment, but he seems like a decent enough fellow.
It´s hard to see Elder Ponce leave. He was a diligent example of what missionary work is really about. Love of the people. Elder Ponce wasn´t about numbers. He relished every contact he made. Every lesson he taught. He was concerned, genuine, and prayed for his investigators often. He taught me charity.
And so it is that every passing face is another lesson. God takes away our trice and gives us training wheels, then he takes the training wheels off and gives us a two wheeler, and so on and so forth. We learn; we progress not by our comforts, but by our discomforts. But like any loving father, He is always there. We may fall down, but we learn that we were never in any real danger. He was there. All along. And from the pitfalls of our mortal experience, our troubled souls cry, "Lord save me!" And then comes the comforting condolence, "oh ye of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt."
God lives. He loves each of His children. The worth of their souls is indeed great. I know he lives, and like any father is always there for His children. We need only look around us to see his hands.
I have felt His "arms unfailing round me" these past six weeks. I was never alone. Never. Even in the darkness of the cold argentine night, huddled like a child in the arms of a loving parent. Even when I couldn´t see the light at first, He was there. I can testify He was there.
I feel your prayers and your love. Even a world away.
Elder Ponce engineered a Noche de Cine for a ward activity to watch kung fu panda. Obedient, disobedient, I don´t really know. And I can´t exactly express my concerns. So I washed my hands of the situation and just buckled down for the ride.
"Elder Jensen:
Along for the ride"
I like to compare my experience to the first transfer to wake boarding. Only my wrists are tied to the boat. Whether I´m in the wake cruising, or being dragged behind, the boat is going. Indeed, along for the ride.
Anyways, I had my doubts about cinema night. But about half the ward showed up, to my surprise, and two of our most important progressing investigators.
Hmno Marchoni tried to write a welcome message in English on the blackboard at the entrance to the chapel. Turned into something like "Welcome to night of the home" or something like that. Not sure where that was derived from still...
Anyways the night was a huge success. Except in the closing moments of the film, torrents of rain started falling outside. Not rain in the typical sense. Rain like I had never seen before. Like that one time that we were in Nauvoo and it started pouring. Worse than that. So bad we couldn´t hear anything above the sound of water crashing into the steel roof.
So we ended up waiting for our investigators to hire a cab. And didn´t get back to the pension at 11.
When we arrived, the main floor of our pension was soaked in water, minor flooding. I don´t keep any of my things on the floor, and they pretty much designed to flood. They´re tile and angled down toward a drain. Complete with a squeegee (spelling) and everything. Flooding is kind of expected here.
That night Elder Wells called with the transfers. Elder Ponce had told me he didn´t think he was going anywhere, and I had confidence. He had 8 months already in Ensenada. There was no reason to believe he would head out now. As he read the list of transfers our entire district was turned upside down. It reminded me of the MTC days when every week another group of our best friends flew out. Amidst the radical changes, I was grateful I had finally settled into Ensenada, found my place with Elder Ponce. And then, it happened.
"And Elder Ponce," read Elder Wells, "You're going to report to Romero on Monday"
And just like that, everything was upside down all over again.
Sunday was a looooooong day. Prepping to take the reins of Ensenada was a frightening prospect. As we sat in the ward testimony meeting, I looked around at his work, how many lives he had touched. His hands were worn in their service. He loved them, and they loved him. I was scared. Scared I couldn´t live up to that kind of trust. I felt like Gary Crowton taking over after Lavell Edwards, a feeling, which for you cougar fans filled me with some frightful prospects concerning the destiny of my area.
Karen, the investigator that came the night before, shocked us by coming to church as well. Mind you, this is the same Karen that openly professed atheism to us over and over. When Elder Ponce found her, she was gothic, and her mom a former Jehovah’s Witness. Not exactly your cookie cutter missionary investigator. Earlier that week she was in tears during our visit, telling us how she couldn´t change.
After church that day, we went to her house so Elder Ponce could say goodbye. Karen had changed. She was determined to do something with her life. I saw a miracle with her. She asked us, "What are the requirements to serve a mission?" I kid you not; she was seriously investigating the prospect of serving an LDS mission. We explained that she had to be baptized first, which didn´t seem to faze her. What had changed? What in the world had happened that week?
To be honest, I’m still wondering that same thing. The night before, amidst the torrents of rain she told us how much she hated that people didn´t care about where they´re going, where they came from, or purpose in life. During our visit, she expressed holding the Book of Mormon how much she wanted to use her intelligence to do good. With sincerity, to turn her life over to God.
I look to Mosiah 5:2 for the explanation. I am yet to confirm it, but I can already tell. Karen had a change of heart. She found something, a testimony, a purpose, a love of God. A faithful vision that where she felt dissatisfied with whom she was, she could find direction by turning her life over to a greater cause. A truly mighty change of heart. I´ve never seen an investigator turn around like that.
Ensenada is on fire. Spring is here, and with the blossoms of the season come the blossoms of our labors as well.
It´s a shame that Elder Ponce has to leave so soon, and when so much is looking up for us. Now I´m with Elder Bushman, a lanky North American from Spanish fork. As of about 2 hours ago. I´m yet to be able to give a full assessment, but he seems like a decent enough fellow.
It´s hard to see Elder Ponce leave. He was a diligent example of what missionary work is really about. Love of the people. Elder Ponce wasn´t about numbers. He relished every contact he made. Every lesson he taught. He was concerned, genuine, and prayed for his investigators often. He taught me charity.
And so it is that every passing face is another lesson. God takes away our trice and gives us training wheels, then he takes the training wheels off and gives us a two wheeler, and so on and so forth. We learn; we progress not by our comforts, but by our discomforts. But like any loving father, He is always there. We may fall down, but we learn that we were never in any real danger. He was there. All along. And from the pitfalls of our mortal experience, our troubled souls cry, "Lord save me!" And then comes the comforting condolence, "oh ye of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt."
God lives. He loves each of His children. The worth of their souls is indeed great. I know he lives, and like any father is always there for His children. We need only look around us to see his hands.
I have felt His "arms unfailing round me" these past six weeks. I was never alone. Never. Even in the darkness of the cold argentine night, huddled like a child in the arms of a loving parent. Even when I couldn´t see the light at first, He was there. I can testify He was there.
I feel your prayers and your love. Even a world away.
Monday, October 5, 2009
The Real Transition
General Conference really does take on new meaning as a missionary. Like Elder Ockey said, it´s the super bowl.
In our mission, you can only attend if you have investigators. Gracias to the language barrier, I never could get a clear reason why promoting investigator attendance outweighed receiving modern revelation. As a result I missed Saturday morning.
When we finally did get to Saturday afternoon session in Villa Vida we had to wait for our investigators to show up. They were running late, and as such I was incredibly distraught. Tapping my foot up and down, pacing back and forth, checking the watch and everything. Why had I never been this excited and desperate for conference before?
Thankfully when I finally did get in, there was an English transmission in the other room.
The next morning we were able to see priesthood session rebroadcast, but this time it was only in Spanish. As such I saw 4 sessions of conference. Missed one, and couldn´t understand the other. I hope we get the ensign out here soon. My personal favorite was Elder Holland. I hope to one day be able to bear a testimony like that of the Book of Mormon.
I couldn´t help but let my thoughts wander back home, especially during the priesthood session. All the guys going off to Rafael´s. Sitting around the table. Dad probably said something like "well Stephen´s all the way in Argentina. Just a few more conference sessions and Jonathan will be somewhere” And Jonathan probably thought, "like that´ll ever happen." I assure you, that day is coming faster than you think.
I guess the true spirit of this week has been transitioning. The real transition. Not just the initial culture shock transition. At this point everything has been new, different, exciting. Now I have to set into a routine. I´ve tried all the new foods (well most of them) and seen most of the, frankly, strange things this place has to offer. Now is the make or break moment. Up until now, it´s just been a fun vacation. Ok, that´s a bit generous. But seriously, more like an adventure. At this point, I have a deep heartfelt yearning for the things I realize I won´t get here for two years.
Random things too. Like cheddar cheese, popcorn, refried beans, limes, and tortilla chips. Essentially all Mexican food. and, surprisingly most of all
Pickles.
I went to burger king today, and they had pickles. Never have I tasted something so delicious in my life. I guess going to BK kind of silenced those yearnings. That doesn´t mean I wouldn´t kill a guy for a slice of cheddar, but that´s beside the point...
I guess the problem is, the problem we don´t realize, in America we don´t really have a cuisine. We eat all sorts of random stuff. We have a HUGE variety of food. Chinese, Mexican, Italian. Here, they eat Argentine. And Argentine is delicious. I guess I’m just hungry for something different.
So I´ve got a problem. I want to cook a roast and introduce Elder Ponce to roast beef mashed potatoes and gravy for Sunday dinner, but after a certain college experience resulting in a piece of meat burnt beyond the point of recollection, seeing as how I’m without Crockpot here I don´t see how it´s feasible. I know I would have to add the water progressively. So here I am with the problem, and I´m sending you what I have. It´s kind of like that scene in Apollo thirteen where they send the materials they have to NASA and they have to figure out a solution. I´ve got six and a half hours (6:30-1:00) and church starts at 9:30. Assume I would be away from the roast for 4 hours with travel time and socializing. Is there any way to cook it without burning it? Like putting extra water in the pot that I cook it in?
Anyways...
This week has been good for me. Minus a small cold I´ve been fighting. I feel like I´m making progress in the language. It´s hard to see though. With Elder Ponce it´s always hard to communicate. Especially after a real long day. I feel like, when I’m on the street doing missionary work, it´s my work. Spanish is my work. So when I get back to the pension, finish planning, and change into my pj´s, the last thing I wanna do is struggle through conversation with Elder Ponce. Which leads to a lot of silence. I kind of have learned to like silence. I´ve.... kind of had to.
The USB for the camera like shut down the entire computer I’m on when I tried to get the pictures and send them. I don´t think it´s going to work, so you might just have to wait for me to send my SD card home. Maybe you could send one down and I could send one home or something like that. I really do want you to see the pics. It was quite a shame. Especially because we went to the cathedral of the Plata today. I was trying not to go all AP art history nerd on everyone, but I couldn´t resist. It was quite amazing. Gothic style. I only dreamed of seeing a cathedral like that in my life. Wow. This really is the perfect place for me. Art history, culture, food like Europe. Warm culture and religiously accepting people of South America.
Random detail dad. You know how they say green olives are strange? Some of the Elders here are convinced their real disgusting, and totally foreign, only to be had in Argentina. Having been raised on green olives in our house my whole life, I fearlessly devoured a ton of green olives right in front of them. Yeah. Fearless.
This week I had an exchange with Elder Wells and went out to Altos de San Lorenzo. This place wasn´t like Ensenada. This was where the immigrants from Paraguay and Bolivia lived. Orient yourself to cliché images of the third world. Dirt roads. Brick shacks with tin roofs. This place had it all. The best part was, we weren´t on bikes. Somehow, I felt like my mission started right there... for real. Something about tracting on foot in the destroyed neighborhood. I wasn´t afraid or anything, very humbled though. Very very humbled.
We ate at a Paraguay family´s house, and I finally met my match for the food. It was this cold chicken cabbage stuff with a real sour sauce. With the help of about two gallons of fanta, I managed to down it fast enough.
I found I understood a lot more of the Paraguay Spanish. This Castellano stuff here really is strange.
I love the work here. I´m starting to actually be able to teach during the lessons instead of just bearing testimony. I know this church is true. Especially el Libro de Mormon. What a miracle that book is. What an incredible miracle. Truly it is the cornerstone of our faith. I love this opportunity, to be out here like saints of old bearing testimony of the prophet Joseph and the word of God.
In our mission, you can only attend if you have investigators. Gracias to the language barrier, I never could get a clear reason why promoting investigator attendance outweighed receiving modern revelation. As a result I missed Saturday morning.
When we finally did get to Saturday afternoon session in Villa Vida we had to wait for our investigators to show up. They were running late, and as such I was incredibly distraught. Tapping my foot up and down, pacing back and forth, checking the watch and everything. Why had I never been this excited and desperate for conference before?
Thankfully when I finally did get in, there was an English transmission in the other room.
The next morning we were able to see priesthood session rebroadcast, but this time it was only in Spanish. As such I saw 4 sessions of conference. Missed one, and couldn´t understand the other. I hope we get the ensign out here soon. My personal favorite was Elder Holland. I hope to one day be able to bear a testimony like that of the Book of Mormon.
I couldn´t help but let my thoughts wander back home, especially during the priesthood session. All the guys going off to Rafael´s. Sitting around the table. Dad probably said something like "well Stephen´s all the way in Argentina. Just a few more conference sessions and Jonathan will be somewhere” And Jonathan probably thought, "like that´ll ever happen." I assure you, that day is coming faster than you think.
I guess the true spirit of this week has been transitioning. The real transition. Not just the initial culture shock transition. At this point everything has been new, different, exciting. Now I have to set into a routine. I´ve tried all the new foods (well most of them) and seen most of the, frankly, strange things this place has to offer. Now is the make or break moment. Up until now, it´s just been a fun vacation. Ok, that´s a bit generous. But seriously, more like an adventure. At this point, I have a deep heartfelt yearning for the things I realize I won´t get here for two years.
Random things too. Like cheddar cheese, popcorn, refried beans, limes, and tortilla chips. Essentially all Mexican food. and, surprisingly most of all
Pickles.
I went to burger king today, and they had pickles. Never have I tasted something so delicious in my life. I guess going to BK kind of silenced those yearnings. That doesn´t mean I wouldn´t kill a guy for a slice of cheddar, but that´s beside the point...
I guess the problem is, the problem we don´t realize, in America we don´t really have a cuisine. We eat all sorts of random stuff. We have a HUGE variety of food. Chinese, Mexican, Italian. Here, they eat Argentine. And Argentine is delicious. I guess I’m just hungry for something different.
So I´ve got a problem. I want to cook a roast and introduce Elder Ponce to roast beef mashed potatoes and gravy for Sunday dinner, but after a certain college experience resulting in a piece of meat burnt beyond the point of recollection, seeing as how I’m without Crockpot here I don´t see how it´s feasible. I know I would have to add the water progressively. So here I am with the problem, and I´m sending you what I have. It´s kind of like that scene in Apollo thirteen where they send the materials they have to NASA and they have to figure out a solution. I´ve got six and a half hours (6:30-1:00) and church starts at 9:30. Assume I would be away from the roast for 4 hours with travel time and socializing. Is there any way to cook it without burning it? Like putting extra water in the pot that I cook it in?
Anyways...
This week has been good for me. Minus a small cold I´ve been fighting. I feel like I´m making progress in the language. It´s hard to see though. With Elder Ponce it´s always hard to communicate. Especially after a real long day. I feel like, when I’m on the street doing missionary work, it´s my work. Spanish is my work. So when I get back to the pension, finish planning, and change into my pj´s, the last thing I wanna do is struggle through conversation with Elder Ponce. Which leads to a lot of silence. I kind of have learned to like silence. I´ve.... kind of had to.
The USB for the camera like shut down the entire computer I’m on when I tried to get the pictures and send them. I don´t think it´s going to work, so you might just have to wait for me to send my SD card home. Maybe you could send one down and I could send one home or something like that. I really do want you to see the pics. It was quite a shame. Especially because we went to the cathedral of the Plata today. I was trying not to go all AP art history nerd on everyone, but I couldn´t resist. It was quite amazing. Gothic style. I only dreamed of seeing a cathedral like that in my life. Wow. This really is the perfect place for me. Art history, culture, food like Europe. Warm culture and religiously accepting people of South America.
Random detail dad. You know how they say green olives are strange? Some of the Elders here are convinced their real disgusting, and totally foreign, only to be had in Argentina. Having been raised on green olives in our house my whole life, I fearlessly devoured a ton of green olives right in front of them. Yeah. Fearless.
This week I had an exchange with Elder Wells and went out to Altos de San Lorenzo. This place wasn´t like Ensenada. This was where the immigrants from Paraguay and Bolivia lived. Orient yourself to cliché images of the third world. Dirt roads. Brick shacks with tin roofs. This place had it all. The best part was, we weren´t on bikes. Somehow, I felt like my mission started right there... for real. Something about tracting on foot in the destroyed neighborhood. I wasn´t afraid or anything, very humbled though. Very very humbled.
We ate at a Paraguay family´s house, and I finally met my match for the food. It was this cold chicken cabbage stuff with a real sour sauce. With the help of about two gallons of fanta, I managed to down it fast enough.
I found I understood a lot more of the Paraguay Spanish. This Castellano stuff here really is strange.
I love the work here. I´m starting to actually be able to teach during the lessons instead of just bearing testimony. I know this church is true. Especially el Libro de Mormon. What a miracle that book is. What an incredible miracle. Truly it is the cornerstone of our faith. I love this opportunity, to be out here like saints of old bearing testimony of the prophet Joseph and the word of God.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Speak from the Heart
This week of my mission was probably the most documented in my journal. I have a host of experiences, but unfortunately I only have time to detail a little bit of one or two. Rather than doing a slew of brief updates on a thousand investigators, I would rather go into detail on just a few special moments that best capture the essence of the weeks. At the end of my mission I’ll probably publish my journal lol, so you can get the full version then.
Ok. Listo.This week we had a special experience. We were able to go to the temple in Buenos Aires. It was cold, chilled. Absolutely frigid with the wind and rain. We had to leave the bus about a mile from the temple and make our way through the countryside to the temple. In the dark rain and sleet swirling around us, the temple stood in such stark contrast in the distance. As we pressed forward, I couldn´t help but contemplate the profound symbolic significance of the situation.
Unfortunately the BA temple is closing for renovation. So it was my first and last.
Doing a session in Spanish was an adventure to say the least. It was a good thing I went so many times before the mission. I essentially had it memorized.
This week has been an emotional rollercoaster, to say the least. I´ve essentially resigned myself to the fact that nothing emotional is constant here. Where one investigator drops off, another progresses. Where one contact slams the door, the other lets you in with open arms. It´s very unsettling.
I´ve finally realized it´s been about four weeks since I’ve had a conversation in English. Like a real lengthy conversation. Today we ate lunch as a zone, and people were talking to me in English but I didn´t say much. I´m becoming a very quiet person. It´s not that I´m shy, I’ve just forgotten that I have the ability to contribute to conversation.
Now hold on. Before you start thinking "well that means his brain is going into Spanish mode and he can speak Spanish" I can´t speak Spanish. I´ve just become... quiet.
Like the MTC, this place can break you down. In a different way. A more serious way. A real way. It all started with splits Wednesday morning.
Actually it started earlier in the day. My day, that is to say, began at around 6:40 when I rolled out of bed like a salt soaked slug. That´s usually the first mistake made on a bad day. The whole getting up part.
En verdad, it was actually decent day. We taught the first lesson to a new investigator we found off a contact. Then headed back for hamburgers at the pension. Hamburgers are always my favorite. Fresh made daily buns with argentine beef patties. Everything tastes better here.
Marta is at a brick wall of "dejar de fumar" and is making 0 progress. She knows it´s true, in her head. But lacks the knowledge in her heart. Which begs the question why we have hour long visits 3-4 times a week. I just trust elder Ponce´s vision. Perhaps he sees something I don´t. I´ve learned to have faith in him. Anyways, our appointment with her was frustrating as usual. We finally had divisiones (splits) and that´s when it happened.
Mario, my member comp, and I left the church and started heading to the house of Olga, a recent convert, our baptism about two weeks ago. I knew there was a problem, because I was going to teach temples in Spanish. Something I knew no vocabulary for. So the lesson started as usual, with a prayer, and I began to struggle. Downward spiral.
There are two aspects of Olga´s personality that didn´t exactly favor me in the situation. 1. She hates it when she can´t understand people. 2. She herself isn´t very understanding. 3. She lacks patience.
Which sets the table for a veritable Chernobyl of linguistic disasters.
Yeah. It was that bad.
Olga was plugging her ears and spit firing castellano like a super soaker. I sat there trying to explain, only aggravating her more. She tried explaining her doubt. And she, like most people, did the first two words really slow, and then the rest fast. And for the record. As far as helping me understand, slower helps, but louder doesn´t. I can´t speak Spanish. I´m not deaf.
Anyways.
Upon me not understanding the third time she threw her hands high in the air, dramatic as any argentine, and said something like "what is it with North Americans! Can they not understand anything?!" Which, decently ironic, I understood.
For me, the situation was so frustrating because the temple was something I feel very strongly about. Something I can bear powerful witness of. I was feeling the spirit, but my language barrier forbade me from expressing anything. All she was feeling, was frustration.
And the worst part was, I felt she was right.
She deserved to hear the gospel taught in a beautiful slew of castellano. She deserved to understand. They all do. The people of Ensenada, that is. What could I do? This struggling North Americano. I wanted to see Olga suffer through the MTC. I wanted to see all of them try to learn English, and then jump into a foreign culture. No friends, no family, no one to talk to. Struggling to understand virtually every second of every day. I wanted validation in a grossly impossible way. The bottom line is, nobody understands this situation until they´ve suffered through it. It´s not like lonely in the typical sense, where you call a friend or talk to someone and it´s over. It´s lonely in an advanced sense. Omnipresent. Constant, relentless. In every question I can´t understand. In every feeling I can´t express. In every joke I don´t get. As everyone laughs I just sit there and try to think of something funny to smile about.
Lonely
Like being at a feast and not being allowed to eat any food. Like being at an amusement park and not being able to ride the rides. Like being at... no time for another comparison ha-ha.
Anyways, this train to thought took me to a dark place. Needless to say I was a bit distraught. Here I was, trying to do my best, and she couldn´t understand a word.
Mario sensed that and took over the lesson. We finally left, and walking down the cold Argentine street I could only think of one thing, "Why does it have to be so hard?" A question I could give myself all the answers to, but right then, I didn´t need answers. I had heard all the answers in the MTC. I made many of them myself. "Well if Nephi could build a boat and sail across to the promise land...” well nephi didn´t have to learn castallano! At least HE had people to talk to.
Mario finally pulled me alongside a big grassy Argentine ditch to find out what was going on. He told me he knew it was hard, he knew he couldn´t understand. He wanted to share a scripture with me. So I pulled out my English ones and turned to Joshua 1:9.
"Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and of good courage, be not afraid neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee withersoever thou goest."
Mario continued
"My mom sent me this scripture when I was having... a lot of problems in the mission. I wanted to go home; I was trying to go home. But when I read that, something about me changed. The Lord commanded you Elder Jensen. He is with you. Always. And just because you can´t speak Spanish doesn´t mean they can´t understand you. You feel depressed because you were speaking from your mind."
Then with tears in his eyes he raised his voice and stuck a finger right on my forehead.
"Don´t use this! Don´t speak from your mind. You can´t, you can´t do it that way."
Then he jabbed his finger in my chest.
"You´ve got to speak from your heart. You´ve got to tell them all the ways you know it´s true. They´ll understand. I promise they´ll understand. If you can´t share a scripture or teach or anything, the spirit can. Speak from your heart elder Jensen and they will understand."
And there was the lesson. Spelled out before my eyes over and over. All the sudden the memories of the TRC back in the MTC came rushing back.
It became clear to me that the Lord was going to teach me this over and over and over until I understood.
"Hable de su corazon, Elder Jensen, ello entenderan."
If I could choose one lesson, one moment that meant the most to me in Argentina, it would be alongside that chilly frigid ditch in the dark in Ensenada.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Salvation isn't Cheap
Primavera
or spring in Spanish
Today is officially the first day of spring in Buenos Aires. And it feels like it too. Balmy sun shining down on the palm trees, blossoms peeking out of tree filled streets. This place seemingly became beautiful overnight.
Sorry if my email last week was grim. The first week was crazy. So crazy I didn´t even have time to unpack until p-day.... a week later. So that first week I didn´t have any time to write in my journal. Many of the most precious details and insights were in that original email. When I found out it didn´t send, I felt worse than Martin Harris when he lost the original pages of the BoM manuscript.
Anyways.
My first area is Ensenada, in La Plata. Google images might give you a bit, but I´m not sure. You´ll probably only see the classical Art nouveau buildings on La Plata, downtown. That´s where I´m emailing from right now, and wow. It´s beautiful. Trees line the streets with the fresh blossoms, sun glistening off of the breathtaking Corinthian columns. Natural organic steelwork. Yeah, that´s not where I´m working though.
I´m working in Ensenada. Mountains? That´s a resounding no. It´s flat here. Flatter than Kansas. I´m not joking. Completely level. The buildings are largely comprised of concrete and tin. Each looking the same as the last. When the sun is out, the blossoms on the trees reemerge, and it can be breathtaking. Along the edges of the city, are green fields that stretch on for miles. Little marshes are sprinkled here and there. Wild horses like to graze along the rusty dirt roads. It´s startling, and beautiful.
The clouds move fast here, so fast you feel the earth moving below your feet. Especially without any obstructions on the skyline. It makes you dizzy if you stare for too long.
When the clouds come out, and rain bleeds down from the sky, the city dies. Misery. The two descriptions cannot go hand and hand. The weather changes, and the cityscape changes with it.
When the rain trickles off, and the clouds part. The sun streams down through the moving clouds. Breathtaking.
Ensenada isn´t easy on the eyes. Concrete. Grey, and cold. But inside those houses are very content people. The Argentines. They live simple lives. Their houses are modest, but always well kept. They drink mate by the gallon. Talk with their hands as they slur castashawno. Talk it real high and fast the way Italians do.
Their prideful, but very loving. They believe in God. Almost Every one of them. I´ve met two atheists here.
But on that same note, they are totally relaxed. Very content. They´re willing to listen to our message, but not willing to do what it´ll take to change. As soon as it comes to commitment, that´s when they throw you back out on the street.
Might I use the next four minutes describing the food.
I have been raised in a family where a certain man has told me my entire life horror stories about the exotic things that I would surely be forced to consume on my mission.
To this man, my father, I would like to submit the following.
I have never eaten, nor ever will eat, as well as I am eating right now in Argentina.
You´re probably thinking to yourself right now, that the food can´t be THAT good. No, you’re right. It´s better. I´m yet to learn words in Spanish, and yet to possess the words in English necessary to adequately describe how good this food is.
Meat and potatoes. That´s what they like to eat here.
Pizza pasta and ravioli, with a delicious steak on the side occasionally.
The thought process of an Argentine at dinner is ¨ “What would go good with this indescribably delicious pizza? How about a perfectly cooked 12 oz sirloin?"
Forget about packaged foods. Everything here is cooked at your corner market fresh daily. That includes an assortment of about 20 breads. And cheeses. And fresh meets. Everything we cook here is first, cheaper, and second, better.
They have this creamy caramel stuff called dulce de leche. Heavenly. And they put it on everything.
No time to describe food.
Ok so Thursday I had interviews with the pres. I told him my concerns and the things on my mind. He gave me some of the best advice I´ve had on the mission yet. "It´s hard enough without all that other stuff you´re putting on it. Just relax, and just enjoy it."
So I did.
That day it was raining really really hard. We can´t take the bikes (we use bikes in my area) during storms so we went on foot. We started making contacts with little success, as had been the norm for about a week when finally two women let us into their home.
It was cluttered, clothes thrown all around, kids running everywhere. They brought us into the kitchen, a thick standard aroma of cigarettes in the air.
We taught them about the Book of Mormon in the restoration. I told them that they had to help me, because I only had two weeks in Argentina and didn´t know much of the language. They laughed and agreed.
Their names were Blanca, and Anabel. Very receptive to the message, very willing to listen. As I finished, struggling, bearing my testimony, one of them, Anabel said something like this.
"You have such great faith to come so far and share this with us. What you say must be important. I´m going to read in this book."
Wow.
Most rewarding moment of my mission.
Jeffrey R. Holland said that the reason we suffer in missionary work is that salvation isn´t cheap. That we need something to validate ourselves. The Savior has the holes in his hands and feet. As missionaries we have the sacrifices we´ve made for the people. We knock on their doors and in effect say, "Here is the sacrifice of my family and friends. Here are my tears of discouragement. Here are the countless hours of work and study. These are my tokens; listen to what I have to say. Because I know. I KNOW it´s true."
I love the people here. I absolutely love it. Love every minute of it. No more time. Gotta run.
Argentina: Week one
I´m heartbroken
Last week I spent the full hour and wrote an incredibly detailed account of everything.
And somehow it didn´t send.
I feel sick.
I don´t even know where to start...
Honestly...
I can´t think.
That seriously sucks.
It was like beautiful. The best email yet. Hands down. And huge. Straight hour of typing uninterrupted. And it didn´t send. I don´t even know what to do.
Ok....
wow.
Ok...
Now I only have thirty minutes. To detail a bunch of stuff I don´t remember.
So we flew out to Argentina...two weeks ago lol. UGH! I can´t believe that other one didn´t send. I´m so frustrated I can´t even type.
Ok, bulleted list of things that happened.
-flew out to Argentina. 14 hours, not fun. Very surreal, didn´t know which way was up by the time I got off the flight.
-it is cold here. Very cold. First impression of Argentina. Cold.
-As soon as we got here, mission president told us we have a huge day ahead of us. Not exactly the words you want to hear after traveling for 24 hours without sleep.
-First thing we did was go to the capital for visa work. Cue about a three paragraph beautiful lyrical description of the landscape of Buenos Aires, which courtesy of this crappy email service you´ll never be able to read.
-Buenos Aires is not beautiful. It is run down, tin roofs, concrete jungle, and shacks built on top of each other. Don´t trust Google images. Those pristine European buildings are at the front of Buenos Aires only.
-We went to the mission home for lunch and to meet our companions. Food here=delicious. I eat better here than I’ve ever eaten in my life. Here´s another three paragraph description which courtesy of a crappy email service you will never read.
-my companion is Elder Ponce. Native. Doesn´t speak any English. We rushed off to our first area. I was able to communicate very few ideas to him, and it got frustrating fast. (Insert a big description here)
-We had a night full of appointments which I couldn´t contribute that much except my testimony (another description)
-Finally, when nightfall came, I huddled in my bed in the shack of a pension, our apartment (described in great detail in the other email) with the dogs roaming the streets howling, the sirens blaring, in my sleeping bag, shocked and terrified, unable to communicate anything, and lost it.
It was a long cold night in Buenos Aires.
Ok I think I finally can write some stuff.
The next morning was better, but I couldn´t communicate anything except a little testimony. So incredibly frustrating. Ok, so I could actually get a little lesson to, but with a native companion, for the first week I wasn´t able to understand the lesson plan, so I didn´t understand what we were talking about, and there was no way to verify if what was said in our meetings was correct because my companion is native. And every time I ask him to explain, I don´t understand.
I kept having those "that isn´t the language they taught me in the MTC moments." That´s because in my defense, it wasn´t the language. They don´t even call it Spanish here, it´s Castellano, pronounced (castashawno). All "y´s" and "ll's" now become a complete sh sound. Random words like aqui, for example now become akaw. They fluctuate their voices like Italians, speak it really fast and with their hands. They use an irregular conjugative slang called "vos". I still am not quite sure how it works. You put vos at the beginning of a verb and then conjugate them all the same or something. I would ask my companion, but, you guessed it, native.
Actually he´s from Chile. Elder Ponce is really nice, and I´m getting the hang of communicating things with him. Good sense of humor at the very least.
The work here is on fire. This mission is on the verge of making history, doubling monthly baptisms. They had 140 for the month of august.
The people here are warm and kind. Very very loving. Very willing to listen to the message. No matter what, they´ll talk to you. For the first week they always accepted pamphlets. I came in at the perfect time. We had our first baptism last week.
As for the whereabouts of my cougars, I was left quite hanging last week when I got mom´s email and it only had a small sentence about a win. Wow. Number three. That´s the big time right there. See if they can´t get it done against Florida state this weekend.
My football bio-clock struck midnight last week, and I have to fight to not go into mental football mode. Which is especially hard, because it´s easy to zone out in huge discussions when I have no idea what´s going on. If I let my mind wonder, suddenly I´m at college football.
Finally amid my desperation to find something out about the win, I managed to talk to one of the AP´s at zone conference during lunch, who got to watch the end of the game with the mission secretary. He filled me in. Said that Sam Bradford was injured. Can someone verify?
I know I’m not supposed to seek after callings, but if being an AP means watching BYU ball, well....
Anyways today is P-day. The real p-day. So today was the zone activity. And we watched lord of the rings in Spanish. I know right? Lord of the rings? I thought they were just saying that to pull a prank on the new elder. Nope, seriously, we watched it. Apparently sister Asay let´s things slide pretty easy when it come to films. It was pretty distracting dubbed in Spanish.
As I said, last week we were having a lot of success with appointments, this week I saw the other side. Like 65% of the appointments made fell through. And then during contacting I became acquainted with something new in Argentina, rejection.
A guy slammed a door on us. It was the first door I had had slammed on me, and I just started laughing. My companion couldn´t figure it out. I tried to explain the significance of the moment with him, but it was totally lost. I had waited my whole life hearing the tracting stories from other missionaries to get a door slammed in my face, and there it was.
Actually that night turned seriously sour, fast. We had one of our best investigator families tell us not to come back out of the blue. Heartbreaking. Which left us to more contacting. Which we did, for an hour. With abnormally bad luck. I mean, Argentina, people always want to talk. But when things turn south here, they go real south. So my companion decided to let me do one of the contacts by myself while he made a call. Ok, we actually had a member with us, Mario. A good friend of mine now. Very relatable. Anyways I´m making this contact on my own and it´s a bunch of people smoking while I’m trying to explain to them in my broken Spanish about the restoration.
Side note, everyone here smokes. I think I´m vicariously up to three packs a day. Seriously. What I want for Christmas? A gas mask.
So anyways we went to our next appointment, the follow up of a really good lesson detailed in the other email. Long story short it was my first time doing splits and I had a really good lesson with a fourteen year old kid. Really related to him. Thought he was going to read for sure. Bore strong testimony etc. Anyways when we went to the follow up, found out he didn´t read. I really wanted this kid, enzo, to read. I had prayed night and day, fasted and everything. He´s the only non-member in a big family. When I heard he hadn´t read, it broke my heart. I heard a voice distinctly in my head "now you know how God must feel." It was a striking lesson. You can fast, pray, everything in your power. But at the end of the day people still have their agency.
By the end of this week, now, I´m starting to be able to follow all the lessons. Contributing more as well. Yesterday we had splits again, and I taught Alma 34 to an old lady, Marta who´s trying to give up smoking. The spirit was very strong.
Then there´s Rodolfo, who a few weeks ago we contacted and taught the first lesson out of the blue. We just found out his son died a few months ago. Do you have any idea how strong the spirit testifies of the plan of salvation to someone who really needs it? Powerful. It´s hard to get hold of him, and we´re working to get a return appointment.
Then there´s Karen, who´s a lot like me. About 22, living at home, going to school. Isn´t sure if she believes in God. She keeps her reading commitments, is very impressed with the "logical" nature of the gospel. With her it´s the most frustrating, the language barrier I mean. I complemented her choice of art on the wall, Guernica by Picasso, and she was impressed I knew it. Bottom line, it´s hard to communicate the smallest ideas.
Ok, times up. This was kind of a crazy fill you in email.
If I had to describe these past two weeks in one word it would be lonely. It´s hard. When so much is welling up inside me, and I just want to vent for hours. And then not having anyone to talk to. It gets real frustrating, real fast. I know God lives and loves His servants though. This is about enduring to the end. Every day gets a little easier with the language.
I love you all very much. I feel so far away. Like an entirely new world. Not even on the same planet. The gospel is the same here. There are wonderful members. I love them very much. I love the people here. I love this work. We´re beacons to a dark world that desperately needs help.
Last week I spent the full hour and wrote an incredibly detailed account of everything.
And somehow it didn´t send.
I feel sick.
I don´t even know where to start...
Honestly...
I can´t think.
That seriously sucks.
It was like beautiful. The best email yet. Hands down. And huge. Straight hour of typing uninterrupted. And it didn´t send. I don´t even know what to do.
Ok....
wow.
Ok...
Now I only have thirty minutes. To detail a bunch of stuff I don´t remember.
So we flew out to Argentina...two weeks ago lol. UGH! I can´t believe that other one didn´t send. I´m so frustrated I can´t even type.
Ok, bulleted list of things that happened.
-flew out to Argentina. 14 hours, not fun. Very surreal, didn´t know which way was up by the time I got off the flight.
-it is cold here. Very cold. First impression of Argentina. Cold.
-As soon as we got here, mission president told us we have a huge day ahead of us. Not exactly the words you want to hear after traveling for 24 hours without sleep.
-First thing we did was go to the capital for visa work. Cue about a three paragraph beautiful lyrical description of the landscape of Buenos Aires, which courtesy of this crappy email service you´ll never be able to read.
-Buenos Aires is not beautiful. It is run down, tin roofs, concrete jungle, and shacks built on top of each other. Don´t trust Google images. Those pristine European buildings are at the front of Buenos Aires only.
-We went to the mission home for lunch and to meet our companions. Food here=delicious. I eat better here than I’ve ever eaten in my life. Here´s another three paragraph description which courtesy of a crappy email service you will never read.
-my companion is Elder Ponce. Native. Doesn´t speak any English. We rushed off to our first area. I was able to communicate very few ideas to him, and it got frustrating fast. (Insert a big description here)
-We had a night full of appointments which I couldn´t contribute that much except my testimony (another description)
-Finally, when nightfall came, I huddled in my bed in the shack of a pension, our apartment (described in great detail in the other email) with the dogs roaming the streets howling, the sirens blaring, in my sleeping bag, shocked and terrified, unable to communicate anything, and lost it.
It was a long cold night in Buenos Aires.
Ok I think I finally can write some stuff.
The next morning was better, but I couldn´t communicate anything except a little testimony. So incredibly frustrating. Ok, so I could actually get a little lesson to, but with a native companion, for the first week I wasn´t able to understand the lesson plan, so I didn´t understand what we were talking about, and there was no way to verify if what was said in our meetings was correct because my companion is native. And every time I ask him to explain, I don´t understand.
I kept having those "that isn´t the language they taught me in the MTC moments." That´s because in my defense, it wasn´t the language. They don´t even call it Spanish here, it´s Castellano, pronounced (castashawno). All "y´s" and "ll's" now become a complete sh sound. Random words like aqui, for example now become akaw. They fluctuate their voices like Italians, speak it really fast and with their hands. They use an irregular conjugative slang called "vos". I still am not quite sure how it works. You put vos at the beginning of a verb and then conjugate them all the same or something. I would ask my companion, but, you guessed it, native.
Actually he´s from Chile. Elder Ponce is really nice, and I´m getting the hang of communicating things with him. Good sense of humor at the very least.
The work here is on fire. This mission is on the verge of making history, doubling monthly baptisms. They had 140 for the month of august.
The people here are warm and kind. Very very loving. Very willing to listen to the message. No matter what, they´ll talk to you. For the first week they always accepted pamphlets. I came in at the perfect time. We had our first baptism last week.
As for the whereabouts of my cougars, I was left quite hanging last week when I got mom´s email and it only had a small sentence about a win. Wow. Number three. That´s the big time right there. See if they can´t get it done against Florida state this weekend.
My football bio-clock struck midnight last week, and I have to fight to not go into mental football mode. Which is especially hard, because it´s easy to zone out in huge discussions when I have no idea what´s going on. If I let my mind wonder, suddenly I´m at college football.
Finally amid my desperation to find something out about the win, I managed to talk to one of the AP´s at zone conference during lunch, who got to watch the end of the game with the mission secretary. He filled me in. Said that Sam Bradford was injured. Can someone verify?
I know I’m not supposed to seek after callings, but if being an AP means watching BYU ball, well....
Anyways today is P-day. The real p-day. So today was the zone activity. And we watched lord of the rings in Spanish. I know right? Lord of the rings? I thought they were just saying that to pull a prank on the new elder. Nope, seriously, we watched it. Apparently sister Asay let´s things slide pretty easy when it come to films. It was pretty distracting dubbed in Spanish.
As I said, last week we were having a lot of success with appointments, this week I saw the other side. Like 65% of the appointments made fell through. And then during contacting I became acquainted with something new in Argentina, rejection.
A guy slammed a door on us. It was the first door I had had slammed on me, and I just started laughing. My companion couldn´t figure it out. I tried to explain the significance of the moment with him, but it was totally lost. I had waited my whole life hearing the tracting stories from other missionaries to get a door slammed in my face, and there it was.
Actually that night turned seriously sour, fast. We had one of our best investigator families tell us not to come back out of the blue. Heartbreaking. Which left us to more contacting. Which we did, for an hour. With abnormally bad luck. I mean, Argentina, people always want to talk. But when things turn south here, they go real south. So my companion decided to let me do one of the contacts by myself while he made a call. Ok, we actually had a member with us, Mario. A good friend of mine now. Very relatable. Anyways I´m making this contact on my own and it´s a bunch of people smoking while I’m trying to explain to them in my broken Spanish about the restoration.
Side note, everyone here smokes. I think I´m vicariously up to three packs a day. Seriously. What I want for Christmas? A gas mask.
So anyways we went to our next appointment, the follow up of a really good lesson detailed in the other email. Long story short it was my first time doing splits and I had a really good lesson with a fourteen year old kid. Really related to him. Thought he was going to read for sure. Bore strong testimony etc. Anyways when we went to the follow up, found out he didn´t read. I really wanted this kid, enzo, to read. I had prayed night and day, fasted and everything. He´s the only non-member in a big family. When I heard he hadn´t read, it broke my heart. I heard a voice distinctly in my head "now you know how God must feel." It was a striking lesson. You can fast, pray, everything in your power. But at the end of the day people still have their agency.
By the end of this week, now, I´m starting to be able to follow all the lessons. Contributing more as well. Yesterday we had splits again, and I taught Alma 34 to an old lady, Marta who´s trying to give up smoking. The spirit was very strong.
Then there´s Rodolfo, who a few weeks ago we contacted and taught the first lesson out of the blue. We just found out his son died a few months ago. Do you have any idea how strong the spirit testifies of the plan of salvation to someone who really needs it? Powerful. It´s hard to get hold of him, and we´re working to get a return appointment.
Then there´s Karen, who´s a lot like me. About 22, living at home, going to school. Isn´t sure if she believes in God. She keeps her reading commitments, is very impressed with the "logical" nature of the gospel. With her it´s the most frustrating, the language barrier I mean. I complemented her choice of art on the wall, Guernica by Picasso, and she was impressed I knew it. Bottom line, it´s hard to communicate the smallest ideas.
Ok, times up. This was kind of a crazy fill you in email.
If I had to describe these past two weeks in one word it would be lonely. It´s hard. When so much is welling up inside me, and I just want to vent for hours. And then not having anyone to talk to. It gets real frustrating, real fast. I know God lives and loves His servants though. This is about enduring to the end. Every day gets a little easier with the language.
I love you all very much. I feel so far away. Like an entirely new world. Not even on the same planet. The gospel is the same here. There are wonderful members. I love them very much. I love the people here. I love this work. We´re beacons to a dark world that desperately needs help.
Smoke and Mirrors
This week has been up and down. Truly representative of the MTC life. Emotional highs, and soul crushing lows. Time does not allow me to share even a tenth of the experiences I'd like to.
Yesterday, Hermano Gato came into the classroom and informed us it was officially teaching week. Which meant instead of language study and MDT (see james for MDT) we would be teaching lessons instead. Doing all the stuff real missionaries do. Notice how I said real missionaries. We forget sometimes in here..... Anyways, that meant that our plans for the week were nullified. Which to the casual observer seems like no big deal. But, here planning takes on a whole new meaning. When every fifteen minutes of your day is planned out, you get a little frustrated when the teachers strut in and throw a curve ball like that.
It couldn't have come at a better time. Here we are starved, starved for something ANYTHING spontaneous. You have to realize we live in four places. The classroom, the gym, the cafeteria, or the residence. Thus this place gets in your head. That kind of redundance gets in your head, starts to work on you. You stop remembering who you were before this. Elder Nielson left this week for Russia, which means only Elder Westover remains. He's the only person I knew before this, the only person that reminds me that I lived before walking through those gates. Once he leaves on Tuesday, who knows what will happen. Forget my identity? Quite possible.
I guess what's most frustrating about the MTC is how fake everything is. Now believe you me our teachers hammer against this mindset. "if we teach only fake investigators we are only becoming fake missionaries." I know I know I know I know. But at the end of the day it's just a volunteer, it's just another missionary. Don't get me wrong, the spirit is strong and powerful. The experiences are real. But at the end of the day you still feel lost in a mess of smoke and mirrors, craving something solid to hold onto. Fake food. Fake games. Fake rooms. Nothing feels real except the Spirit.
So you can imagine the prospect of leaving being a welcome opportunity right? Wrong. Roughly ten thousand mistakes stand between me and fluency. Which means I'm in limbo right now between my insatiable desire to leave this place and my fear to step out the door. Quite the kunundrum.
Anyways, teaching week has been crazy. We teach about four lessons daily on top of our usual classes and study. Tons of contacts and commitments. All the goals and numbers are constantly swimming in my head. It's a bit too authentic. But discouraging. Especially when we don't meet the goals. This thing demands planning on a new level. We are literally running place to place. Every second of every day is a valuable commodity not to be wasted.
Once again, too authentic.
Last night I was breaking down at about 8:30. It was post TRC, when I took the spanish lesson in a different direction because I thought I felt the Spirit. Elder Coats was frustrated with me because he didn't know what was going on and said the investigator didn't know what i was talking about. That really got to me. I started questioning wether it was the spirit or not which led to obvious discouragement. Then realizing there was no way we could complete our daily slew of context sat down with my scriptures because I didn't know what else to do. It's times like those you just want a silent room all to yourself to just sit and organize your thoughts. You want a shoulder to cry on. You want to vent for hours to a brother a mom a dad a friend or something. But the MTC is cold. You can't start thinking like that. It's selfish. Cruel, but true. And the only remedy, is to work through it and work hard. Just like an injury on the court.
Suck it up, and walk it off.
The bottom line, this place gets in your head. Missionaries just start to break down like that, happens all the time. It's never quite logical, it's never quite justified, but it's real. We try to support each other, hold onto something amid the firehose of responsibility constantly weighing on us. You have to respect the work, rely on the Lord and the Spirit, or it will destroy you.
Don't believe me?
We see it all the time.
Anyways, we were assigned to be host missionaries, which was admittedly a welcome responsiblity. It hurts though. Seeing those new missionaries leaving their mothers behind. It hit all of us in different ways. In a way it ripped off some callouces. Everyone's been there on that curb at one point or another.
I don't mean for this to be a negative email, I'm just telling it like it is. The MTC is hard. It's rewarding but it's hard. For every triumph, there's a let down to folow. For every success, failure can't be far around the corner. Ecctasy one minute, depression the next. It's life in the fast lane. Life in the paradox. Trapped in a maze of smoke and mirrors. It's the MTC.
The church is true. I know it now more than ever. The Lord breaks us down to build us up.
Yesterday, Hermano Gato came into the classroom and informed us it was officially teaching week. Which meant instead of language study and MDT (see james for MDT) we would be teaching lessons instead. Doing all the stuff real missionaries do. Notice how I said real missionaries. We forget sometimes in here..... Anyways, that meant that our plans for the week were nullified. Which to the casual observer seems like no big deal. But, here planning takes on a whole new meaning. When every fifteen minutes of your day is planned out, you get a little frustrated when the teachers strut in and throw a curve ball like that.
It couldn't have come at a better time. Here we are starved, starved for something ANYTHING spontaneous. You have to realize we live in four places. The classroom, the gym, the cafeteria, or the residence. Thus this place gets in your head. That kind of redundance gets in your head, starts to work on you. You stop remembering who you were before this. Elder Nielson left this week for Russia, which means only Elder Westover remains. He's the only person I knew before this, the only person that reminds me that I lived before walking through those gates. Once he leaves on Tuesday, who knows what will happen. Forget my identity? Quite possible.
I guess what's most frustrating about the MTC is how fake everything is. Now believe you me our teachers hammer against this mindset. "if we teach only fake investigators we are only becoming fake missionaries." I know I know I know I know. But at the end of the day it's just a volunteer, it's just another missionary. Don't get me wrong, the spirit is strong and powerful. The experiences are real. But at the end of the day you still feel lost in a mess of smoke and mirrors, craving something solid to hold onto. Fake food. Fake games. Fake rooms. Nothing feels real except the Spirit.
So you can imagine the prospect of leaving being a welcome opportunity right? Wrong. Roughly ten thousand mistakes stand between me and fluency. Which means I'm in limbo right now between my insatiable desire to leave this place and my fear to step out the door. Quite the kunundrum.
Anyways, teaching week has been crazy. We teach about four lessons daily on top of our usual classes and study. Tons of contacts and commitments. All the goals and numbers are constantly swimming in my head. It's a bit too authentic. But discouraging. Especially when we don't meet the goals. This thing demands planning on a new level. We are literally running place to place. Every second of every day is a valuable commodity not to be wasted.
Once again, too authentic.
Last night I was breaking down at about 8:30. It was post TRC, when I took the spanish lesson in a different direction because I thought I felt the Spirit. Elder Coats was frustrated with me because he didn't know what was going on and said the investigator didn't know what i was talking about. That really got to me. I started questioning wether it was the spirit or not which led to obvious discouragement. Then realizing there was no way we could complete our daily slew of context sat down with my scriptures because I didn't know what else to do. It's times like those you just want a silent room all to yourself to just sit and organize your thoughts. You want a shoulder to cry on. You want to vent for hours to a brother a mom a dad a friend or something. But the MTC is cold. You can't start thinking like that. It's selfish. Cruel, but true. And the only remedy, is to work through it and work hard. Just like an injury on the court.
Suck it up, and walk it off.
The bottom line, this place gets in your head. Missionaries just start to break down like that, happens all the time. It's never quite logical, it's never quite justified, but it's real. We try to support each other, hold onto something amid the firehose of responsibility constantly weighing on us. You have to respect the work, rely on the Lord and the Spirit, or it will destroy you.
Don't believe me?
We see it all the time.
Anyways, we were assigned to be host missionaries, which was admittedly a welcome responsiblity. It hurts though. Seeing those new missionaries leaving their mothers behind. It hit all of us in different ways. In a way it ripped off some callouces. Everyone's been there on that curb at one point or another.
I don't mean for this to be a negative email, I'm just telling it like it is. The MTC is hard. It's rewarding but it's hard. For every triumph, there's a let down to folow. For every success, failure can't be far around the corner. Ecctasy one minute, depression the next. It's life in the fast lane. Life in the paradox. Trapped in a maze of smoke and mirrors. It's the MTC.
The church is true. I know it now more than ever. The Lord breaks us down to build us up.
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