I am so happy because it is getting more Seattle-like up in this Eastern Euro-pop, or "po-hladnichko" as people often say. So everything is slowly, slowly cooling down, apples are slowly coming out to the fruit stands, melon piles are going down (frown), and tomatoes are still doin' fine.
How to start? First of all, thank you all for writing
to me and helping me feel loved. I am very lucky to be as supported and buoyed as I am. Shout-outs to
all and sundry. I apologize for not writing back some of you, but
we have been discouraged from writing to non-family, for one thing, and
email time has just continued to go faster and faster since I've gotten
"older" in the mission, and now I have a little daughter who watches my
every move, so I have to Be A Good Guy. Which I'm okay with.
Anyway, I won't do one of those annoying "I'm an
American in Europe blah blah blah fun!" rundowns. (Although what I write
might be annoying anyway). But I SHALL share two spiritual experiences
from this week, and one food experience.
First of all, does anybody remember Raiko? The
painter who likes Coke Lite? After kind of deciding a week ago that he
wasn't ready, due to his constant doubting/lack of paying attention, we
managed to see him on Friday after getting back from a 3-hour train ride
from Chirpan (accidentally didn't get off the train in Starz, because
too many people were pushing me). And this time, he actually listened.
We talked about the Holy Ghost and what it actually is, and how hard it
is for him to accept that there is life after death. And he finally,
finally admitted that he felt the feeling we were talking about, that
the Holy Ghost was present while we talked to him and while he read. And
it was just really cool.
Also this week, my annoying
four-chord-equipped guitar fingers made their re-entry onto the scene,
and we played some hymns with him and made him sing with us. So this all
sounds silly. But I guess I'm just happy that he is making any small
movement toward a greater knowledge of himself and of God that he can,
even if it's somewhat limited.
Second of all, our Relief Society president, Zladka
(the same one who passed out a few weeks ago in the middle of church) is
in the hospital, sadly, with some really bad and complicated liver
condition. So we six missionaries went up to the hospital (I think I've
talked about Bulgarian hospitals before . . . ) to see her. Surrounded
by garbage and cigarette smoke and techno blasting from the cafes near
the hospital (nothing like getting away from your cancer patients for a
nice smoke), we sat on the ground and had a sacrament meeting with her,
and sang hymns with my silly blue guitar, and gave her the sacrament
(elders, not us), and talked about the people in the branch and how they
were doing.
Food experience: Maria, the new convert, randomly
decided to buy a giant (e.g., two feet long) bannitza from her favorite
bakery and bring it to English, and to invite whomever wanted to come
and bite from it, and to drink airan (yogurt salty thing, it's Turkish). So a weird collection of us ended up eating bannitza in the
weird upstairs area of the church, and discussing Russian and arguing
about who knew English better. I've never felt more Bulgarian than the
time I carried a two-foot-long bannitza on my head that one time.
Okay. I love you guys. Tell me how school is! Send me socks! Remember to be nice to your parents!
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