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.