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.