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.
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.
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