We had a stellar bilingual baptism on Saturday. It was the first baptism I've had where the person was actually on time to their own baptism and there was virtually no drama. It was like a dream. There were so many people that came (can't complain about that at all), we had to move into the Sacrament Room and there were so many white people that showed we had to have it in English and Spanish...even the hymns. I was conducting the music so I'd sing one line in Spanish and the next in English - that was a trip. Some how it worked even with no one singing the same words at the same time.
After the baptism, President took us out to a buffet. He and his wife didn't have enough time to eat with us but President is the type of man that can't sit still so while he 'watched our purses' as we gathered our first plate he walked around collecting plates for the table full of items he thought we might need to snack on during courses...like rolls and steak. It was the funniest thing every when my mission president came back to our table with a plate piled full of steak and onion rings. Very thoughtful. His wife sighed and lovingly commented on how he was a keeper. Indeed. I will now be measuring my future husband by the standard of a steak plate for the table.
I know I am only across the street, but I feel like I'm in a different country. I only speak Spanish, it's way colder and the food is killing me. My companion has been telling all the families that my poor white girl stomach is not accustomed to Mexican food yet. They all chuckle and give me a wink and then make some joke about the little white redhead girl from Texas. I'll take it because I really can't handle it! My body is literally rejecting the food. I'm not really sure what the difference is - maybe it's the quantity, that's certainly gone up. I've also had a lot spicier food over here on the other side of the street. Go figure. Somehow they still like me and let me come into their homes. My lack of eating skills must be compensated by my cute Spanish quips...or the hair. I talk about food a lot. It's an hourly concern. Seriously, I had to eat so much cheese the other day to express my love for these members that I could have built a cheese house (oh Phebes). Speaking of food...we teach a street vendor several times a week. He sells food I've never seen in my lifetime and some of it I'm still afraid of, but people seem to buy it all. We meet up with him wherever he is vending at that moment with his little three-wheeled cart. It's so fun hunting him down then praying and reading scriptures right there on the street - I feel like such a foreign missionary when we do that! He's really progressing and I occasionally enjoy the fruit drinks and mayonnaise/cheese covered corn, but I do not care for the pickled pork skins. I'm good.
Obedience. Yikes. That was the theme at this past week's Zone Conference and it was intense. The President's wife even pulled out secret combinations and scared us straight to the bone. I am pretty sure my eyes were glued open in sheer panic the rest of the day. But it was clearly needed. It seems like each missionary has their own little or big lesson on obedience. One thing I've learned for sure is that in order to be a happy missionary you have to be obedient - that doesn't mean that you are happy all the time or things are perfect, but if you are truly happy - you are probably obedient. And it's the little things that matter. I was being a slacker pants with my personal study last transfer and I had no idea how much I was just torturing myself for that. It wasn't until I re-dedicated myself to good, daily study that I remembered how important and helpful it is. It's no joke, reading the scriptures every day is a little thing that really does have a huge impact whether we notice it or not. It's there, I swear. We've also been working on time, getting out of lessons, getting home on time - these things are super important so much so that the other day we were in a super late lesson and when we finally got out I was like we have to run. RUN. And run we did. I ran so fast that I am pretty sure I broke my heart and I couldn't breathe for like 5 hours - I was a coughing and wheezing disaster. That was my punishment. If I'm late, I have to run and when I run it's a horror show...like an old lady trying to do jumping jacks (I don't really know what that's like but when I picture it, it seems about the same as me trying to run a half mile). Anyway, obedience is the key to happiness whether the rules might blow or not. If it sounds like a broken record it's because we don't get it otherwise. My bad.
xoxo,
Hermana Hall
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