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.