Many times in my life, I have had the opportunity to sit back and reflectively think "What is Life." Whether running into the same 4 people on 3 separate occasions on the same day at Disneyland or serving a mission in the hometown of one of your characters, that question starts becoming relevant. It becomes even more so when a week-- a mere 7 days-- has so much content. You might look at my journal entries and think "you must get up VERY early in the morning!" Well, I do. And this week was a 6:30am till 10:30pm Sunday through Saturday roller coaster.
First of all, I found out that I'm getting a little sister. In missionary terms, that means I'm going to be in a trio. This brings a lot of stress on my trainer-- who now has to train 2 missionaries at the same time. I also have begun to wonder how another human being is going to fit in our shoebox.
I was proposed to this week. I am not a fan of this person. We tracted into him and it got out that we were the Mormons. He said "oh man, I'm switching faiths, I want more than one wife!" It took every fiber of my moral stamina to control my optic nerves so that I would not roll my eyes. We corrected this misconception and tried to keep going, but he kept talking about polygamy and how he himself was looking for a wife. He stopped us--midsentence--and asks us "y'all have husbands?'
"Uh... no, I'm 19."
So he tries to ask us out on a date.
"No sir, we're on a mission for 18 months, we don't date."
"Okay, you off in 18 months?"
"... Yes."
"I'll give you a call then. Imma look you up. I'm lookin' for a wife, I'd love to have two wives!"
Notice-- he tried to ask us BOTH on a date.
We walked out of there quickly, only to find out that he was watching us walk up the street from his window.
Guys, that's not how you ask me out and that's certainly not how you propose to me.
Fortunately, the week was not a total downer. We met a sweet old lady named Joyce. She's everything I want to be when I'm 88. She's traveled the world over, her house is FULL of international art-- and she has a walnut Baldwin grand piano that she asked me to play. Oh my gosh, I could have been there for hours. It needed a little tune, but MAN. This is also one of those times that I have to turn to my mother in gratitude and chagrin for making me practice the piano so... thanks mom.
You guys, I killed a 3-inch cockroach this week. Yeah. Uh-huh. All while screaming for my daddy.
Sister Grimnes lost her scriptures and this week has been "helping" me lose some faith. It's really hard to work in a ward that hinders all the work that you do. So lemme give you some advice since I'm not here to complain-- when you see missionaries, do more than feed them. Give them addresses. Welcome the new people. Go with the missionaries to see the people they're teaching and leave them with your testimony. JUST DO IT. Don't hate us-- help us. Also, give us bottles of water, that's incredibly helpful.
It's helpful because we;re often out tracting in the middle of the day, out in the blazing hot sun, often with no rewards. So it's quite a miracle when we're able to perform one. We were tracting, and we knocked on the door of a sweet middle-aged woman. She invited us in and after talking, she stopped us.
"Wait-- y'all really from the church?"
"Yes ma'am."
She broke down crying. She opened up and told us that, just before we had knocked, she has been praying for something. Something that would take away the pains of loneliness and guilt.
"Y'all are a miracle, you know that, right? You answered my prayers."
We set up a return appointment with her and I believe that she will go far.
See, there's proof that God exists. We may have had a tempestuous, emotional and wrecking week but we held on and thanks to that, somebody now knows that there is a redeeming power that gives purpose to life, gives happiness, takes away all the pain... Why wouldn't anybody accept that?
According to the MASH game Sister Grimnes and I played last night, I'm going to own a house in California with my husband, Captain America, take care of one child and drive a purple jaguar to and from my job as a stage manager. Through this experience of obviously divine revelation, I realized something rather obvious: your life and what you do with it says more about you than anything ever could. It's so ridiculously obvious that I shouldn't even have to say it, but think about it. What are people going to say about you when you die?
We met some people who had their car doors open, blasting gospel music, and having a full on dance party. As Sister Grimnes says, "you GOTTA talk to people having that much fun, that's where all the stories come from!" We found out that they were dancing in memoriam of their sister who had just died. One of them shook his head and, smiling, said "we're just remembering the good times." his friend responded and said "YEAH! GOD TOLD US SO! YOU KNOW, HE SAID DON'T BE SAD, BE GLAD!" (yes, he shouted.)
As we were leaving, I told Sister Grimnes that they better be playing some AC/DC at my funeral. They better remember me for the good times. But you know what else they'll talk about at my funeral? They'll say "Every storm she came up against got its head bashed in" Goshdarnit, y'all will be talking about how I died with my boots on. This week was proof that Satan exists and focuses a whole lot of energy on God's missionaries. But if Satan exists... That means God exists. And God's not gonna stand around and shuffle his feet. This week was rough, but we're gonna kick this sucker.
Sorrynotsorryforthelongletter,
Sister Gunson
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