Week 48: "Of Course. Anything for God."
Dear Loved Ones,
I've spent this past week on a gratitude high. I don't know what it is. Maybe Thanksgiving. But I've just been so happy with everything in my life, even though nothing exceptional has happened this week. I'm happy here.
This week, we re-taught Saydi the doctrine of Christ by making little stepping stones out of paper so she could hop from one step to another. A few half sheets were left over after the game and she started doodling on them. I asked her, "Can you endure to the end and keep going to church even when it's hard?"
She kept her eyes on her doodle paper and I wasn't sure she was paying attention. But then she scribbled something on a spare paper, held it up, and it said, "Of Corse. Anything for God!"
I love this child.
When I was a new missionary, I set this goal that I wanted to help eight people be baptized. Saydi is my fourth, but now I don't care about numbers anymore. My last child convert, Luvlee, who was baptized in April, is no longer attending church. I didn't know Luvlee as long as I've now known Saydi, but the memory haunts me and I live in fear of her going inactive. There's an Emily Dickinson poem that says (paraphrased), "If I can stop one Heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain. If I can ease one life the aching, or cool one pain, or help one fainting Robin onto his nest again, I shall not live in vain."
I'd rather bring light to one robin who is willing to endure to the end than baptize eight or eight people who drop off.
The sad and bitter truth of missionary work is that miracles expire. The old dude who got into family history and sat through the best Plan of Salvation you've ever taught starts hitting on you. The lady who weeps when you come to the door and says she has been looking to grow closer to God and you caught her on the very day her husband left and she lost her job ends up not wanting to meet with you again. And converts borne of what my companion calls two-week baptisms leave off attending church very quickly. I used to be obsessed with the idea that I was sent to an area because my specific knowledge or perspective was needed to help a certain person. I thought I needed to find the reason I was there. But this week I decided I'm just going to work with whatever comes to me and make something happen. Like this week when a family came in for a tour and they had a special needs kid who wasn't as impressed by the tour as the adults were and kept making noise, distracting the parents. So I stepped out the back way, raided the play area for toys, and brought her some stuff to keep her interested while her parents learned about church history. They thanked me later.
So I'm just going to go through life and look through little ways to magnify my calling. Like giving toys to kids, digging through Saydi's junk cellar to make sure she stays active, and putting together a Christmas package for my friend Fia out of the junk past missionaries have left behind. Side note: Well-meaning parents of missionaries, all your stuff gets abandoned. My trained in Boise went home in February, so Christmas was really recent for her. Her mom sent her stockings, ornaments, off-brand figurines of little missionaries, and a snow globe (which is heavy and probably added a lot of shipping dollars onto the cost). She kept all the Christmas remnants in the original package box for the six weeks I lived with her. When it was time for her to go home, she picked up the box and carried it to the dumpster. I rescued some of the pretty stuff and stashed it in our study room for future missionaries to gift to anyone who might appreciate it, but I hightailed out of Idaho in March and have no idea what happened to it. Fia's Christmas package consists, in part, of stuff someone named Sister Retorick abandoned when she left (a candle, bath fizz ball, and windup music box shaped like a bell). I could probably write an entire email about missionary marketing and commercialism. Little cutesy missionary gifts are marketed to the purchaser, not the final recipient. Even the people making them must realize that missionaries have no use for these beyond unwrapping them and saying, "Ooh look, my people love me."
My transfer ends on December 19th, so I'm a little worried I might get yanked out of my area just before Christmas. I would love to have Christmas in Independence. The visitors' center is decked with poinsettias and bows and we're putting together a Christmas program! I love it here.
Sincerely,
Sister Smith
I've spent this past week on a gratitude high. I don't know what it is. Maybe Thanksgiving. But I've just been so happy with everything in my life, even though nothing exceptional has happened this week. I'm happy here.
This week, we re-taught Saydi the doctrine of Christ by making little stepping stones out of paper so she could hop from one step to another. A few half sheets were left over after the game and she started doodling on them. I asked her, "Can you endure to the end and keep going to church even when it's hard?"
She kept her eyes on her doodle paper and I wasn't sure she was paying attention. But then she scribbled something on a spare paper, held it up, and it said, "Of Corse. Anything for God!"
I love this child.
When I was a new missionary, I set this goal that I wanted to help eight people be baptized. Saydi is my fourth, but now I don't care about numbers anymore. My last child convert, Luvlee, who was baptized in April, is no longer attending church. I didn't know Luvlee as long as I've now known Saydi, but the memory haunts me and I live in fear of her going inactive. There's an Emily Dickinson poem that says (paraphrased), "If I can stop one Heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain. If I can ease one life the aching, or cool one pain, or help one fainting Robin onto his nest again, I shall not live in vain."
I'd rather bring light to one robin who is willing to endure to the end than baptize eight or eight people who drop off.
The sad and bitter truth of missionary work is that miracles expire. The old dude who got into family history and sat through the best Plan of Salvation you've ever taught starts hitting on you. The lady who weeps when you come to the door and says she has been looking to grow closer to God and you caught her on the very day her husband left and she lost her job ends up not wanting to meet with you again. And converts borne of what my companion calls two-week baptisms leave off attending church very quickly. I used to be obsessed with the idea that I was sent to an area because my specific knowledge or perspective was needed to help a certain person. I thought I needed to find the reason I was there. But this week I decided I'm just going to work with whatever comes to me and make something happen. Like this week when a family came in for a tour and they had a special needs kid who wasn't as impressed by the tour as the adults were and kept making noise, distracting the parents. So I stepped out the back way, raided the play area for toys, and brought her some stuff to keep her interested while her parents learned about church history. They thanked me later.
So I'm just going to go through life and look through little ways to magnify my calling. Like giving toys to kids, digging through Saydi's junk cellar to make sure she stays active, and putting together a Christmas package for my friend Fia out of the junk past missionaries have left behind. Side note: Well-meaning parents of missionaries, all your stuff gets abandoned. My trained in Boise went home in February, so Christmas was really recent for her. Her mom sent her stockings, ornaments, off-brand figurines of little missionaries, and a snow globe (which is heavy and probably added a lot of shipping dollars onto the cost). She kept all the Christmas remnants in the original package box for the six weeks I lived with her. When it was time for her to go home, she picked up the box and carried it to the dumpster. I rescued some of the pretty stuff and stashed it in our study room for future missionaries to gift to anyone who might appreciate it, but I hightailed out of Idaho in March and have no idea what happened to it. Fia's Christmas package consists, in part, of stuff someone named Sister Retorick abandoned when she left (a candle, bath fizz ball, and windup music box shaped like a bell). I could probably write an entire email about missionary marketing and commercialism. Little cutesy missionary gifts are marketed to the purchaser, not the final recipient. Even the people making them must realize that missionaries have no use for these beyond unwrapping them and saying, "Ooh look, my people love me."
My transfer ends on December 19th, so I'm a little worried I might get yanked out of my area just before Christmas. I would love to have Christmas in Independence. The visitors' center is decked with poinsettias and bows and we're putting together a Christmas program! I love it here.
Sincerely,
Sister Smith
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