A tip of the Hat

To rob Steven Colbert once more, I’ve got a tip of the hat and wag of the finger today.

Tip of the hat goes to James for getting into BYU. Congrats! Stay a year or two and well go to the same school when we get back.

Other Tip of the hat goes to Elder Westover. Welcome back to the mission field bud! I’ve had it about up to here with Chile this week, not sure how you’re doing over there... ha-ha. But seriously, congrats. (Hey mom, could you send Elder Westover the address of my mission offices. He’s got a letter he wants to send me, and I don’t have it memorized.)

Wag of the finger goes to impatient Chileanos. And complainers. You might see how these two are related by the time this email is over.

Also Wag of the finger goes to tropical rainstorms. I have never ever seen rain like this before. Maybe we just entered into the rainy season, maybe it’s just abnormal—my language barrier still prevents me from finding out. Which leads me back to my first wag of the finger.

Impatient Chileanos. Who can’t stand to translate things out of a senseless grudge against English.

If you haven’t already picked up on it, my companion is Elder Sanchez from, you guessed it, Chile. This is the second comp from Chile of the four I’ve had on the mission. Which means I’ve only been with a native English speaker for one transfer of my mission. (Ok, elder Valerin was fluent, and lived in the states most of his life so I guess he doesn’t count)

Even still, I’ve found things with a native speaker are a lot easier when you actually know Spanish. I feel like I’m improving in the language because I’m back to speaking it 24 hours a day. I can actually hear all the linguistic devices, and the words that I can’t understand. Then I can use context to define them. Needless to say, I’m immersed in Castellano right now, which has led me to a new phenomenon. Dreaming in Spanish. Yup, never thought that would happen.

Elder Sanchez and I had to take a taxi from the train station in Burzaco, and head out to the next closest town where our pension is actually located, Longchamps. As we got out of the car, there was something distinct about where I was. Green trees. Chirping birds. Dirt roads. I was in the country side. The first silence and nature I had heard in nearly 12 weeks, a stark transition from the bustling city life of Avellaneda.

We had stopped in front of a fairly nice looking house, and the remiz had left us there. We were concerned that he had gotten the address wrong, and as it was a white wash, both of us had our entire mission luggage. If it was the wrong place, I wasn’t sure what we would do. There were several beautiful houses surrounding us, and an especially beautiful one carried the numbers of our address. We took out the keys and tried the gate. To our shock, it actually opened.

I supposed that the normal house belonged to the owners, and that we had the shabby looking shack to the side. But with a refined sense of curiosity, we took the key to the large oak door, and turned it. We both gasped as it opened revealing one of the nicest living spaces I had ever seen in Argentina.

But it couldn’t be ours. Surely there had to be a mistake. The Area book on the desks and the vacant rooms confirmed it. Elder Sanchez and I had scored a house.

That’s right. We lived in a house. We ran around the living room screaming and jumping up and down. Picture the scene in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate factory when all the kids are set loose in the room where everything is edible and you’ve got the vision of the feeling as we explored our new living quarters. Also play the song in your head.

It was unbelievable. A house! Compared to the hole in the wall pensions I had lived in in Avellaneda and Ensenada, I was in a palace. Back yard, grill, shed, everything. Just writing about it is bringing the excitement back. Let it be noted that this was a whitewash because they were transitioning between elders and sisters. It made me wonder is that how all sisters live on the mission? They have been holding out on us.

We walked down the shady green street to the only shop down the block. It was an internet cafe as well and had big yellow letters on the window that read "Kolob Cyber." We were very very curious, and found out that indeed, it was owned by members. The familia Sigal. A big Utah Mormon family here in Argentina. Their son recently got his mission call to Ogden Utah, so I’ve been culturally debriefing him on the horrors that lay in store. Were going to make some exotic Utah cuisine like Jell-O with carrots, and fry sauce. Anyways, I’m happy to say that you will all be receiving this email from the "Kolob Cyber" in Argentina.

It didn’t take long in the area to realize that the hermanas here before hadn’t exactly been thrusting in their sickle with their might. Rewind the clock twelve weeks and read my first email from Avellaneda. This area was relatively dead. Still breathing, but definitely in a slump. The realization of the situation came over time as we tried to contact the investigators in the area book, and realized that all of them would have to get lengthy and costly divorce cases worked out to get baptism and wouldn’t even be eligible for the ordinance for years and years.

It was a lot of walking all over again. But this time instead of silent Elder Valerin, I was introduced to the large trucho Chilean wonder. Elder Sanchez.

Standing at about 6 foot 1 with a slight unibrow and a facial expression that is slightly reminiscent of a grizzly bear mixed with the man who plays the Cyclops on "Oh brother where art thou", is Elder Sanchez. Very frank. Very possessive. And very impatient with incompetence. Which has meant a lot of voiced criticisms about the areas function, about the preceding hermanas, about the people that wouldn’t listen, about North Americans that don’t know Spanish. About just about everything. Regardless, he is a hard worker and a good teacher once he sits down and starts sharing things.

Then threes me. Very content with circumstances and just happy that we even have investigators. Which is more than I could say about Avellaneda 2 when I arrived. What’s more, I get to do all the walking alongside gorgeous forested streets and big green grassy argentine fields. I have thoroughly enjoyed our daily strolls as we’ve tracted.

What’s more, the ward here is solid. They have been waiting for the mission president to send them elders to work with their numerous youth for a very long time. So we were welcomed like kings in Sacrament meeting. Even though we didn’t have investigators.

So Burzaco. Another adventure. Forested. Lovely. And startlingly beautiful. My home away from home in Argentina. Also very difficult, and unsettling at times. And even more, something didn’t feel right. Whether it was the big yellow painted letters on the Kolob Cyber, or the awkwardness of the whitewash, there was something missing in Burzaco, something I was bound to find out in the very near future.

Les amo

Elder Jensen

Leaving Avellaneda

Elder Suppes and Elder Chapman, I know my letters are in high demand, but so is my time in Argentina. P-day comes and goes faster than a speeding colectivo on the Mitre. Nevertheless, I will repent.

Not because I like writing letters, more selfishly, I like getting letters. And you have to write letters to get letters. As evidence of how I’ve been slacking, today was transfer meeting and I was left letterless. There are few things as a missionary more discouraging, but it was well deserved. I’m making a new resolve to write friends and Elders all around the world.

This past week was loco. LOCO! And for those of you who no habla Castellano, a eso se llama "crazy".

C-R-A-Z-Y.

CRAZY!

Elder Valerin and I were running between our regular duties to the chapel on the other side of our area at least once a night. The reason? We were planning a big double ward missionary activity. A talent show with a fireside at the end by President Asay. If you wonder why the Elders were planning this, well, there isn’t exactly a ward activities committee down here. Which means if we want to get something done, we do it ourselves.

On top of the stresses of planning prepping and organizing the activity, Sylvina had decided to get baptized on the same day. So in addition to our regular duties, activity planning, we also took on a baptism. Not to mention the special attention that a baptismal candidate needs the week of the ordinance. Including the interview, invitations, speakers etc. etc. etc.

Last week was one big dramatic blur.

So Ill focus on the baptism.

Sylvina was ready. Escogida. Chosen. When we taught the word of wisdom, she explained to us that she didn’t drink tea, coffee, or alcohol. She didn’t smoke. She already was keeping the law of chastity. Really the only barrier was tithing, which after seeing what that money goes to, she agreed to pay. Even still, we were in a rush to teach all the remaining commandments before her interview.

The day of her interview, Friday, we realized that Sylvina hadn’t told her 11 year old daughter Nicole that she was going to get baptized. She had just told Nicole that they were going to go to the church so she could practice the dance she was going to do in the talent show. It was only when our zone leader showed up to interview her with a big grin saying "who wants to get baptized?" That Nicole realized what her mom was doing....

...Which violated a great big barrier of mother daughter trust issues. Which led to Nicole storming off to the kitchen hiding in a cupboard and sobbing (yes just like randy in a Christmas story) It was messy, but after some assurance, Nicole conceded to let her mom continue, but grudgingly. She still left the chapel in tears. It was not a good situation.

The day of the baptism, we were busy cleaning the chapel, filling the fount, running back and forth between the church and the pension. Making food. Making programs etc. etc. etc.

We managed to run out and get Sylvina and make it on time for the service, which was absolutely beautiful. Elder Valerin went to change for a bit, but ended up taking a while. A bit concerned, I went to check on him in the bathroom. I found him, on his knees in fervent prayer. He cared so much about Sylvina and wanted to make this service the best possible.

After a brief hymn and a few talks, we went to the fount and I watched as Elder Valerin performed the ordinance. As I stood to the side, I watched him. And marveled at how much he cared about her. How much he had changed over the past twelve weeks. I wasn’t jealous that I didn’t stand in the lime light. In so many ways this transfer wasn’t about me. It was about him. Finding love in the work. And I couldn’t have pictured a more beautiful scene than that baptism on that muggy day in Buenos Aires.

There was no rest for us after the baptism. Preparations started immediately for the talent show, which we were also performing in. Everyone had a fantastic time. The spirit was especially strong in our fireside with President Asay. He talked about personal revelation and how that's the true difference between our church and the others.

After, relieved to finally be done with all the stressful activities, I asked President to tell me the transfers. We usually don’t get them until our district leader tells us late before transfer meeting the following Monday. President told Elder Valerin that he would be training for the first time. It came as a surprise for both of us. And then I realized that if Elder Valerin was training that would mean...
"Elder Jensen," started president, "You’re leaving. You’re heading to Burzaco, and it’s a whitewash."

I felt another heavy burden of responsibility fall on me. Just as I had grown at home in Avellaneda, I was already leaving. Not only that, leaving to a new place where no one would know what was going on. Whitewash means that both Elders are new to the area. Which means a very interesting effort of both to get grounding in the area. Just when I thought my woes of Avellaneda were ending, I was heading somewhere uncertain, with no one to give me direction. It was a tough assignment to follow.

But then I thought about how tough things had been in Avellaneda. The miracles I had seen there. And I had confidence that even though it would be difficult, I knew the Lord would provide a way just as he had so many times before.

The next day was a blur of testimonies and goodbyes. The hardest of course, was Sylvina, who decided to stop listening to the missionaries altogether, with the rationalization that she didn’t want to ever get attached to someone again and just have to say goodbye. They gifted me a book with pictures, kind notes, and well wishes. As I left the house that night, Brandon, her 9 year old son tried to chase after me to say something, but Sylvina caught him in the attempt, and we were in a hurry to get back to the Pension. Upon arriving, I sat down to read all the notes, looking over the different gifts that the people had given me. It was about then that I received another call from Sylvina who sounded a bit frustrated. She told me that as soon as I left, Brandon had begun to sob, and wouldn’t stop until he could talk to me. She passed the phone and I listened to his quivering voice.

"Jensen?" He questioned.

There was a big pause.

"I’m going to miss you very much," he cried.

I felt something happening inside me. Something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

"I know Brandon; I’m going to miss you too."

"Jensen?" He questioned again, "Are you going to remember me?"

My heart broke. Right then in the dirty Pension with the book of notes and the gifts all scattered around on the ground. I looked around me and saw the lengthy roads of Avellaneda. I saw a thousand rejections, discouragement, and heartache. I saw the way my feet hurt after a hard day’s work. I saw the empty area book when I first arrived and a thousand obstacles that came along with it. I saw Avellaneda, where it was, and what it became, and I saw a miracle.

"Yes Brandon,” I replied, "I will ALWAYS remember you."

Him, and Sylvina, and Elder Valerin, and Obispo Santiago and the familia Ramos and everyone. I would never ever forget.

I wept that night, harder and longer than I had wept in a long long time. More tears than I ever shed upon leaving my own home. And I wondered why I loved them so much? I didn’t have to look too far for the answer. I loved them because I sacrificed a part of me for them. And I wept because I realized that that’s exactly what Jesus did for me.

Because on a mission, it’s not enough to know what God does, we have to know how he feels. And in that moment I felt very very loved.

A taxi the next morning, two blocks and a curve on the mitre with the endless river of cars coming and going. I left just as I had come. Three bags and a backpack. What changed? It was in my eyes. And I knew God was with me as I started over again, and stepped from the known world out into the whitewash.

Groundhog Day

Summer is raging here in Buenos Aires. For those of you who think you see signs of warmth in the Northern Hemisphere, you’ve been sorely misled. I can safely assert that there are absolutely no signs of cold here, which means there is little or no chance of warmth coming to you there any time soon.

Also I remembered last week that it was Groundhog Day. I hate that holiday. That stupid rat has cost me a haystack of misery in my day. He always sees his shadow. ALWAYS. Until suddenly, I realized that six more weeks of winter for you means six more weeks of summer for me.

Yes. Life in blissfully warm Buenos Aires is, as the Argentines say, "todo tranquil"

I thought a lot about Groundhog Day this week. Not the actual holiday, rather the hit comedy film wherein a fictional weatherman, Phil Connors, is forced to live the same day over and over and over again until he can finally live it right. Having spent 11 weeks here with Elder Valerin, I feel like I am now starring in Groundhog Day.

The mission is cruel like that. The things you want to change stay the same, and the things you want to hold on to change. Everything is up in the air. On a daily basis though, between transfers, things get redundant. It’s what I would call the "trenches" of missionary work. Where the real eternal battle is fought.

Elder Valerin and I have felt exhausted this week. And we’re not completely sure why. My solution: Groundhogs day. Avellaneda has worn me down. It’s the same day every day, often with the same mistakes. The same missed contacts. The same disagreements. The same weaknesses. The same highs. The same lows.

The beauty of Groundhog Day is that eventually Phil Connors finds a way to live the perfect day, by losing himself in the lives of others. It takes him literally years of living the same day over and over, but eventually he makes the small changes necessary to become someone different. To change for the better.

Avellaneda, as redundant as it has seemed at times, has always afforded me the opportunity to start over at the beginning of a new day. The changes that are made are rarely perceptible in the moment, but as I look back at the big picture, the past 11 weeks, I don’t know if I’ve ever changed so much.

The beauty of a new day is the opportunity we all have to, as President Hinckley said, "Try a little harder to be a little better."

So that’s what I think of when I think of Groundhog Day. The little chances we have in the redundancy of life's endless cycle to become something. And rather than resenting our circumstance, slowly learning to love it. Even if all we can do is try.

Because when we do our best, that’s when the miracles happen. And when they do, it makes it all worth it. When they do, that’s when we finally know our efforts have been accepted and even though we can’t, the Lord can.

On that note, we’ve seen a miracle. Sylvina has decided to get baptized this Saturday.

The area they all told me was dead, the companion they all told me was hopeless, the circumstances they all told me were insurmountable, have all been overcome. And I am left with nothing to say for myself but the goodness of God. Because the Elders of Avellaneda 2 don’t really know how to do missionary work. They don’t always ask for references, and they don’t leave the perfect commitments. They don’t teach perfectly, and their Spanish could use some work.

We can say nothing for ourselves.

But God is perfect. I know He lives and loves us. Thankfully, this isn’t our work, it’s His. And even if all we can say at the end of the day is that we tried to be obedient, that’s good enough for Him. He is our father. He is mindful of our needs, and He knows us better than we know ourselves. I have seen His hand here when I didn’t think I could take another step, He was always there. I have seen angels around me bearing me up in very real ways. I have felt your prayers and your love in my behalf being answered and strengthening me. And oh, what a marvelous work and a wonder I have seen here in Avellaneda 2. I will never ever forget what spectacular things that God did for me. And the miracles I saw the likes of which were not deserved.

As groundhogs day may come to an end, what I take is a lesson learned, and a testimony refound.

Wow...what a week.

It´s good to be busy. If you’re busy it means that things are improving.

Elder Valerin and I had a good laugh last night amidst filling out piles of paper work in the area book. He said "Why can´t we just go back 10 weeks ago, we never had anything to fill out."

It´s true. Busy busy busy busy busy. We run in the pension, plan and fill out the area book and don´t finish until 10:30 when I can barely make it into bed, and then we run through and do it over again. It fills like a hamster in a wheel running and running and running. It never stops!

But it feels amazing. Every time I get stressed out because there´s so much to do, I just stop and think about how horrible it was to have nothing to do. It really is a wonderful feeling to be busy. Avellaneda is a miracle in progress.

To answer a few of Mom´s questions:

Avellaneda is part of what the other missionaries call "the mainland" It constitutes where about 80% of where the mission happens. It´s the southern suburbs of Buenos Aires. Avellaneda is the northernmost point of the entire mission. And my area is the northernmost point of Avellaneda. Up the mitre, over a bridge, and I´m in Capital federal. The rest of the mission extends past the city districts and down through the coast with little towns and big fields. It´s a lot bigger than the Mainland, but also there are a lot less people and by extension less missionaries.

La Plata, Ensenada was where I started my mission. It´s like a branch off the mainland. La Plata is another city just to the southeast of Buenos Aires. Whenever you type in Buenos Aires on Google images, you´re going to find pictures of La Plata. It´s beautiful. Ensenada was just north of La Plata right on the shores of the Rio de la Plata.

I would encourage all of you to Google map it. It shouldn´t be too hard to find.

So I´m pretty much in the middle of everything in Avellaneda. I love both places, but I feel closer to my new area now. I feel like everything I had, all the successes in Ensenada were inherited. I´ve seen everything happen in Avellaneda. Many many miracles.

Transfers go down in two more weeks. I was absolutely positive that I was going to stay here. Elder Valerin has been here for three transfers, and I’ve been here for two. But apparently comp. mayor almost always stays for four transfers. What´s more, he hasn´t trained yet and only has three transfers left in the mission. So, according to Elder Valerin, all fingers are pointing to him staying another transfer to train and me packing my bags. Apparently comps here never stay together more than three transfers unless they´re zone leaders. In short, someone is going to leave in two weeks.

I never had thought about how terrible it would be to leave this place. In the beginning, I was counting down the days, but now, I can´t leave. Sylvina is getting ready for baptism in the near future, but probably not until next transfer. To baptize her by week six, will take something miraculous. Neither of us wants to leave without seeing her in the water. We know it´s selfish, but she really is amazing.

This week her daughter Nicole came down with an illness. It´s not identified yet, and they ran a few tests, but nothing brought back any convincing results. We stopped by on Saturday night and explained what a priesthood blessing was, and we offered to give her one. They both came to church the next day, so things are getting better.

Speaking of bringing people to church, we had to go on splits with two youths from our ward, taking cabs to different sides of our area to get everyone. We ended up with six people in our sacrament meeting this week. Perhaps the biggest marker of improvement yet.

Additionally, we found this week, we found a lot. We were led to people in very distinct ways.

One person literally hunted us down on his bike after seeing us pass by and brought us back to his house. We have an appointment with him later tonight.

Another, Saturday morning, might have been my favorite find on the mission. As we were out tracting, we didn´t have very solid plans, and as a result were finding rejection at every door. What made matters worse, the Jehovah’s Witnesses were out as well, contacting close to us, and so we had to leave the area originally planned. As we faced an especially bad rejection, a truck drove by selling fresh watermelons for 8 pesos. I turned around to look as it went by and Elder Valerin asked me "do you want to go buy one"

My first response would have been a self righteous "no! We keep working." But we really didn´t have any plans, and we both felt discouraged. I decided to get the watermelon instead.

We began to head back to the Pension, to drop the awkwardly sized green appendage off, when we passed by an elderly woman who shouted from her porch "Hey! Is that a watermelon?"

Clearly she was no expert on fruits.

"Why yes," I replied, "It is a watermelon."

"I was waiting for the vendor to drive by, but I missed him."

I paused, and replied "Well if you want, you can have ours."

She refused, but then started talking to us. We found out that missionaries had passed by a long time ago and left the BOM for her to read. After a little persuasion, she let us into the house and we shared a message and a prayer with her. We have an appointment to return tonight as well.

Sometimes the lord does indeed work in mysterious ways.

So Avellaneda 2. And me. I don´t know if I’ll be leaving in two weeks. I just know that I’m trying my hardest to make the most of it. Regardless of what the verdict is, I´ll be ready. And I won´t leave here empty handed. The lessons I’ve learned here will last me a lifetime. In the meantime, I´ll just be working and enjoying how good the Lord has been to me here. Knowing that if He could support me in Avellaneda, he could support me anywhere.