We’re Not in Missouri Anymore

 As of right now I have been in Kansas for two weeks and 5 days. And I have yet to see a tornado or Andy Reid in a little plaid blue dress and ruby slippers. One of those things has been more disappointing than the other. 

Really though the hardest transition in this new area has been teaching primarily English speakers. Not only are they generally speaking less open to the gospel, but we also just can't stop finding Spanish speakers. So we keep finding Spanish speakers, and then have to introduce them to the missionaries assigned to speak Spanish in this area. And all I want to do is teach them. We found the cutest little family the other day and just last night we gave them the other Sisters.

 But I know that the feeling I get every time I tell these Spanish speakers about the other missionaries who will teach them, is really just evidence that the reason I learned Spanish wasn't just about learning a language, but instead it was providing a way to help more, to love more fully, and to connect with people who I otherwise never even could've talked with. 

This all being said, I still love teaching regardless of the language and I love the people we are currently teaching. it has just been hard but not impossible to find more people to teach who speak English and not just Spanish.

Just this last Tuesday we received a notice that someone had filled out their information on an ad asking to go to our church. We texted them, though often people forget they filled out an ad, so we didn't expect a ton to come from it. But the person responded and said yes they would like to come to church, but they're only 15 and so they asked if that mattered. I don't think I have ever had that happen before. We told him that yes he could come to church, but if he wanted to learn more about Christ from us, we would need permission from his parents. So he gave his Mom's phone number.

She gave permission and on Sunday a 6 foot tall baby-faced man in plaid, jeans, and boots walked into the chapel. And lo and behold it was our 15 year old new friend and I felt transported back to my high school in Idaho. One of our other friends also came to church in a black button-up, jeans, boots, and a belt buckle, so that didn't help the deja vu either.

Church went so well though, and it was incredible to watch as many of the members of the ward came up to introduce themselves. And then when they went up to bear their testimonies they shared how the members of the ward and the church are meant to support one another and how they had felt supported. 

One woman told the story of her daughter going into a weight lifting competition. When her daughter's name was called to lift, her team mates started cheering her on and slapping her with chalk covered hands on her black uniform, so as she went up she was covered in the handprints of not just people supporting her, but people who knew what she had been going through and was about to do. And she said that was what our wards and congregations do—they support, empathize, and cheer from the crowd. And incredibly enough, before sacrament meeting had started, that same woman had introduced herself to our friends. And many others got up and testified of the power of being together. And it was so amazing to watch that ward literally do what they testified of. And then we had a meeting with some of the youth and they all started talking about how they recognized the 15 year old who had come to church. So we committed them to continue to show that support and get to know that kid. And they took it in stride. 

With a bit of embarrassment about how little I write, 

Herma... Sister d'Evegnee