Monday, August 11, 2014

This Girl


So being a trainer is kind-of super hard and kind-of super awesome.  It's kind-of like being a mom.  So here's what went down.  We showed up at the house one night, at about 8:50, and the landlord was there in her fancy dress and golden jewelry.  She needed the rent.  So I turn to my companion who is in charge of the keys, and she looks up at me with panic in her eyes.  She has lost the keys. 

And there stands the landlord who does not look impressed.  We then realize the keys must be in the house of a new investigator that we went to visit earlier, who lives way on the other side of town.  So we start running.  Oh and, by the way, it's raining this whole time. 

We finally get there and the investigator is not home.  I am stressed at this point because the Elders are going to call me at any moment and ask if we are safe and in the house, and I'm going to have to tell them that we lost the keys. 

Finally the investigator shows up, we get the keys, and we start sprinting for the house again.  So, all over Mexico, there are these sketchy speed bump things, and my companion definitely didn't see one and fell.  HARD.  I heard her go down and immediately thought she must've broken something.  She landed in a muddy puddle too, the poor thing.  

Bad mom.  I'm a bad mom.  She cut her hands and knees open, but other than that, everything was fine. Miracles.  Angels.  

We finally get home.  My companion is limping, bleeding, and dripping with muddy water, and all the while I'm trying to talk to the Elders on the phone, pay the waiting landlord, figure out what the contract she wants me to sign says in Spanish, and clean my companion's wounds.  It was stressful. 

I cleaned my comps wounds out with hot water and alcohol and all sorts of other stuff that can be found in an REI first aid kit.  All is well now and boy am I glad that no one broke anything.  My comp is a trouper. 


This last week I sat in a lesson [missionary].  Just a regular old lesson.  I sat on an old stool about a foot tall and set my bag on the dirt floor next to me.  We were teaching with a member [of the church] present.  His name is Candido, he is old and works on a farm and has a hard time staying focused, but just has the sweetest and purest faith. 

The other person there was Obet.  He's about 22 years old and recently got in a pretty ugly car wreck that almost killed him.  This incident woke him up, and he decided to leave his life of drinking and parties and search for God.  He asks a lot of hard questions, but I LOVE IT!  He really is investigating. He really wants to KNOW. 

The third person was his mom who doesn't read and speaks more of a special mountain dialect than Spanish.  So there we were preaching the good word.  The whole lesson, the goat right behind me bleated loudly, which made it so I had to yell occasionally. 

I tried to maintain good eye contact, even though there were ants crawling all over my legs.  And I tried my best not to chuckle, as my companion in her darling and broken Spanish told our group of listeners that Jesus Smith [Joseph Smith] saw God.  Oh geez.  

And there we were - the strangest combination of people you ever did see.  A red head.  A farmer.  An Ex Partier.  A dialect-speaking mom.  And a 19 year old missionary.  And ya know what the greatest part was?  The spirit was there.  

Yes, the goat yelled (or whatever it is that goats do).  Yes, my companion's Spanish didn't make complete sense.  Yes, Candido would randomly interject random church doctrines that had nothing to do with what we were talking about. Yes, Obet asked a lot of hard questions and threw a lot of doubts at us. 

But even with all that going on,  it was a great lesson.  You could just feel it.  The love.  I just knew God was smiling down on us and having himself a good chuckle.  

I love being a missionary.  In the end, Ana (the mom) prayed in her dialect because she doesn't know enough Spanish.  It was beautiful.  Then they all asked us how to say Jesus and God in English.  We told them and they repeated it over and over in thick accents. 

I love them all so much.  I even love that silly goat that wouldn't shut up.  It's little lessons like that one - I want to bottle up and keep in my pocket. 


So last Sunday we had ZERO investigators in the church.  It was sad and we were bummed.  But this Sunday THREE WHOLE INVESTIGATORS CAME!!  And one of them, during Relief Society, raised her hand when we were talking about the divine gifts that God has given each and every one of us, and said that she's not sure that God gave her any gifts and talents. 

She then launched into the most hilarious and tender rant I've ever heard.  She looked over at me and pointed at me for all to see, "I'm not like this girl." she said.  "This girl's got a gift.  She's got the words. I just don't know what it is, but every time she talks to me I just feel like I want to keep going, keep trying, and be better.  I don't know what it is, but THIS GIRL has got something special." 

Sometimes as a missionary its really easy to feel like you're not making much of a difference.  But occasionally moments like this happen.  And then you realize that maybe you didn't baptize a million and one people.  Maybe you didn't change ten million families forever.  But maybe you DID help one lady in a tiny farm town in the south of Mexico feel like she could keep going.  And then you realize, maybe, just maybe, it was all worth it.

*that one time my hija ate it hard and I had to bandage her all up.

*had to tweezer some rocks out of her hands...good thing I had my head lamp and my REI first aid kit.

*me and my child took a nice awkward missionary self-timer photo. We're basically the greatest pair because we both have a healthy appreciation for Marcell-the-Shell-With-Shoes-On and we both use
essential oils.

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