Strasti amigos! (What? Different languages? What next????)
This was a slightly difficult week. The excitement of dust and dog crap and yogurt everywhere has worn off, and I'm starting to realize that I'm "on" a "mission" to "Bulgaria" to "convert people" to the "Gospel." It's kind of a trudno* thing. There is this culture, it turns out, (I could have guessed it, of course), (too many commas! I'm sorry!) which encourages people to be like "The District" (who has seen that? it's hilarious) and call everybody "powerful" and wear button-up pink shirts and be really serious and use your elastic band thing they give you and be this single kind of serious missionary who does things a single kind of serious way, and to be insanely guilty/self-hating if you do anything slightly different. Well, nuts to you, Culture! I reject you. Because I'm realizing more and more how personal missions are. Even though we all follow the same rules and have the same purpose, we're all called for our individual talents/strengths/things we can cook, and it's meant to be that way. For instance, I will just never, ever wear a blazer. It's not going to happen. Deal with it.
Everyone always said that when you stopped thinking about yourself/your needs/granola and start thinking about the people you work with and see, then you're actually being a missionary. I don't think I'm quite there yet. But I do have the desire to talk about my Investi-gators! (Haha, alligators who are investigating the Church. Get it?)
First of all is Elise. She is from Bali! And speaks Bahasa! And ended up here, somehow, to work, and ended up having a baby with a Bulgar, this guy who turned out to be alcoholic and abusive. I love her, though. She has a kid, Giorgi, who is lit'rally the cutest baby I've seen in all of Europe. And she is very, very sincere and kind of all over the place and spazzy and speaks broken English/Bahasa/Bulgarian and, since we've started teaching her, has started to have very vivid dreams that are kind of crazily vision-sounding (like something she described dreaming that was almost exactly like the Plan of Salve. What?) She has a baptismal date for April, but is still living with her boyfriend, so we fasted yesterday that she'd be able to find a way to leave.
Second, Eva! (P.S. Eva Asplund, she makes me miss you so much. She reminds me of you a lot every time we talk to her. Email me!!) She's 15 and has been coming with her mom to church since she was like 4, because her mom was investigating all that time (but isn't anymore). So finally, this transfer, she agreed to start meeting with Sister Pantigoso and I, and last Saturday, she agreed to make the ultimate slam dunk: baptism. It was really amazing. I just remember the first time we met with her, this sweet, excited, smart, loving girl, who just like, radiated the Spirit just by being herself. It was the first time I had felt this really intense desire to teach someone about their eternal nature and how much God loves them, and it made me jittery and teary and so happy to be sitting there with her. Does that make sense? Anyway. She's getting baptized! A tender mercy that I get to know her, so early in my mission.
Finding is hard. Finding is where you go out in public, with a survey or a streetboard or your brain, and try to stop random people and get their numbers. But it will get better, I think, if I actually practice and "do it."
Will you please send me recipes, everyone? I have none. Cooking is still my favorite outlet for stress, even here in our little 'partment.
Okay. Time is somehow up. I love you all. I'm probably forgetting a million things and a million people. I'm sorry. But I love you and the Church is TRUOOOO. Write meeee!
*Note: I believe this is Polish for "difficult." (the editor)
Monday, March 5, 2012
Week of March 5, 2012
Dear friends,
Eliza is loving her mission but is really needing your support right now. A mission has a way of refining us just where we need to be refined, of asking us to share our most private fears and failings with God without restraint. Please pray for her, write to her, think of her kindly. Thank you for being part of her work!
xo
Marni/Mom
Eliza is loving her mission but is really needing your support right now. A mission has a way of refining us just where we need to be refined, of asking us to share our most private fears and failings with God without restraint. Please pray for her, write to her, think of her kindly. Thank you for being part of her work!
xo
Marni/Mom
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Shameful Cake and Baba Marta
Hello friends! I am sorry for the delay--its been a crazy week here in Seattle. But here it is--a little shorter than usual, and I detect a slight slippage of English syntax. Send the girl some email!
Hey errybody!
Okay, firstly: the following people need to email me so that I have their email addresses/something to respond to: Taylor, Tatyana, Chioma, Thomas, Amelia, Erin McGuire, and Bree. And probably anyone else reading this too. That was just all I could think of in this really, really dark smoky weird "internet area."
So my first week is over! We are teaching and walking and things are good! It is getting slightly warmer! I have stood by the Black Sea now and looked into its (nonblack) depths!
Here is a funny story. We have this family of a grandma (Ivana), granddaughter (Vanya) and grandson (Tsenko) who we're teaching. Vanya just turned 19, and we baked her a banana cake for the occasion (which Bulgarians don't understand. Here, for your birthday, you give other people candy, and certainly no one puts fire on a cake and gives it to YOU). But anyway! She was late for our meeting with her, as we expected (she's kind of a teenager, if you know what I mean) and we were expecting her, really, to just not show up. So we're at her block door on the ninth floor waiting, and Sis. Panti just wanted to leave, because we were late for other appertments anyway.
But I suggested we sit and wait, at least for five minutes. So we did, watching a confusion scene of some kids nine floors below trying to chop wood/fix a car/make a fire, or some combination thereof, with the assistance of a Wise Old Man. The freaky, horror-movie metal elevator kept clunking and humming to our right, signaling a person coming up to their floor, and we started to look at the cake. And things happened. And nervously, jumpily, we ended up eating about half of it right there. And then, JUST as we stood up, ten minutes later, to leave, Vanya showed up. Hahahahahahahhaaha. So that happened.
Also, we made martinitzi last week! Google that up. It's little red and white bracelets you put on on the first of March and then take off and hang on a tree when you see a stork? It makes perfect sense, don't worry. Something to do with spring/blood/seasons. Something like that.*
I have a tiny English/Buglarian dictionary! Too cute!
I am out of time! This is hard! But I love all of you. Will you email me? I will email you back! It will be great!
*Note: She is referring to the celebration of Baba Marta. Read all about it here!
Hey errybody!
Okay, firstly: the following people need to email me so that I have their email addresses/something to respond to: Taylor, Tatyana, Chioma, Thomas, Amelia, Erin McGuire, and Bree. And probably anyone else reading this too. That was just all I could think of in this really, really dark smoky weird "internet area."
So my first week is over! We are teaching and walking and things are good! It is getting slightly warmer! I have stood by the Black Sea now and looked into its (nonblack) depths!
Here is a funny story. We have this family of a grandma (Ivana), granddaughter (Vanya) and grandson (Tsenko) who we're teaching. Vanya just turned 19, and we baked her a banana cake for the occasion (which Bulgarians don't understand. Here, for your birthday, you give other people candy, and certainly no one puts fire on a cake and gives it to YOU). But anyway! She was late for our meeting with her, as we expected (she's kind of a teenager, if you know what I mean) and we were expecting her, really, to just not show up. So we're at her block door on the ninth floor waiting, and Sis. Panti just wanted to leave, because we were late for other appertments anyway.
But I suggested we sit and wait, at least for five minutes. So we did, watching a confusion scene of some kids nine floors below trying to chop wood/fix a car/make a fire, or some combination thereof, with the assistance of a Wise Old Man. The freaky, horror-movie metal elevator kept clunking and humming to our right, signaling a person coming up to their floor, and we started to look at the cake. And things happened. And nervously, jumpily, we ended up eating about half of it right there. And then, JUST as we stood up, ten minutes later, to leave, Vanya showed up. Hahahahahahahhaaha. So that happened.
Also, we made martinitzi last week! Google that up. It's little red and white bracelets you put on on the first of March and then take off and hang on a tree when you see a stork? It makes perfect sense, don't worry. Something to do with spring/blood/seasons. Something like that.*
I have a tiny English/Buglarian dictionary! Too cute!
I am out of time! This is hard! But I love all of you. Will you email me? I will email you back! It will be great!
*Note: She is referring to the celebration of Baba Marta. Read all about it here!
Monday, February 20, 2012
Eliza's First Letter From Varna: Blocks and Buses
Get ready for an ACTUALLY INTERESTING LETTER! Instead of one just about SWEAT AND LAUNDRY! ;)
I mean, I think it will be interesting. Maybe not.
Okay, okay, okay. First things first. We were just at one of Varna's three (3) malls, because it's one of our Edlers' (I like saying "Edler" instead of Elder, it is funny to me) birthday, and we wanted to go boweling/lazy tagging. (Bowling or laser tagging, translated from my special crazy pun language.)*
Second things second. Here I am in the Paradise of the Balkans. If my teachers are reading this, they were all DEAD wrong: first, Baba Vicky did NOT make us dinner; President Roth's wife did (it was very good and Actual, as opposed to the very non-actual plane food we had been ingesting that day). Also, my trainer is Sister Pantigoso, not Sister Kinkaid! You were all so wrong! And I am in Varna, not Sofia. Sister Pantigoso (or Sister Panti, as she frequently calls herself) is from Switzerland most recently, but was born in Peru. So she speaks Spanish and French and good English, and now Bulgarian. So her brain mostly works in French and Spanish, which makes things interesting here. Although the Spanish skillz have come in handy recently, as when we stop at a Bankomat (ATM dealy) and if there's a creepy guy nearby, I say quietly, "A la izquierda," as the case may be. (Because you never can tell when people here will speak English. At least three of our investigators are taught in English.)
Um, oh boy. Let's see. Brain is overloaded. OH! Just so everyone knows this, I am an Idiot who is very Un-Streetwise. Why, you ask? On the way to the aforementioned mall, we were on the Most Crowded Bus Ever, such that I had to wedge myself next to the doors and get smacked forward whenever they would open for a stop, all the time going "Sujliavam, sujliavam!" to all the little dyados and babas. (Cool, different words, you're all thinking!) Anyway, apparently at some point during that, this one girl who was near me took my wallet. So. I don't have my wallet anymore. Oh well! Ha ha ha, Europe! Oh, Europe, you scamp! Your fake showers and very thin toilet seats and insistence upon making yogurt models look very sexual! Oh, also, Taylor Jackboy: you win. I really do like Europe. FINE. Also, Tatyana Iceboy: this place reminds me SO MUCH OF YOU. Everybody walks everywhere in high heeled boots and looks like they just got back from a hike/a thrift store. I understand you/Eastern Europe now.
So I got my wallet stolen like a chump from Tennessee, but at least she didn't get my camera! Because it was in a magical Lisa Simpson sock! So there will be some pictures with this, I think.
Here are some last-day-in-the-MTC shoutouts: Chioma! This is for you! Do you know that when those dudes brought your present to my classroom, I lit'rally burst into tears of joy? You are so nice. You have a huge, beachside resort house in heaven. Also, who sent me that bag of wool tights? Lara? Jesus? Well, they were very smart. Because it's pretty cold here. It was like negative 20 C (Celsius freaks me out, man) in Sofia, the day when we got off the plane, drank a class of cok (juice! who made up that word??), and immediately went to go "contact" "people" in the "Bulgarian" "language." Ha ha ha. That was quite the time.
So we actually have a lot of investigators here, which is great because there is very little chance, in my mind, that I could ever intelligibly talk to someone and attract them to being taught, unless I used one of those cane things they use to pull people offstage. But I guess we just . . . teach people in Bulgarian? Also, BLOCKS! I can't attach pictures it turns out, but everyone google "Bulgarian blocks" and you'll see the huge concrete blokove that we go teaching/contacting in much of the day. They're huge and dirty and wood smokey and full of differently colored windows, and kind of . .. really visually appealing? In a hipster way? It makes me angry because you know the Urban Outfitters/Anthropologie style of decorating? It turns out they just took it from a baba's block apartment from 1970. And made it lamer/more technology-y. And took out all the potatoes.
We did streetboarding on my first day, Friday, which was pretty much the scariest experience of my life, for some reason. Essentially, you get a board with some exciting picture/idea on it related to the gospel, like a giant board used for REACH or a seventh grade science project, and stand by it in the center of Varna going "Dober den! Dober den! Kak si? Znaete li za tazi vipros?" while people laugh/spit upon you/say things you can't understand. One time a guy actually stopped and said something to me like this: "Mumuble mumble communism haresva mi mumble!" and I said "Kakbo vi haresva?" (Which is like, what do you like? Because I thought he said something about liking something.) And then Pantigoso had to come help me out, and eventually he just counted the Holy Trinity on his fingers, made a fist, and shook it at us going, "Protantisti! Protantisti! Slojna rabota!" That comes up a lot. "Slojna rabota." It's like, literally, 'heavy work,' but basically means, 'That's some crazy weird crap you're doing, and I think you're evil and stupid.' So cool!
Also, remember how every googled thing about Bulgaria tells you about the opposite nodding thing? Well, that's no joke man. EVERY missionary here does it. My trainer, when I first met her and asked her if she was excited, said, "So excited! Yes!" while vigorously shaking her head from left to right. Which means, yes. And I already have started nodding for no and shaking for yes, but sometimes I'll catch myself and get confused. So it's bad. I'm just going to hold my head perfectly still, maybe in a helmet, for the rest of my life.
We have an AC/DC mug in my apartment! I'm forgetting all the little things I wanted to talk about! Okay, I love you all! Continue to email me, plz! eliza.e.campbell@myldsmail.net! Keep it up! Hsichko hubavo! I love you!
* Editor's note: Eliza has inherited this gift of wordplay from her Great-Grandpa Joe Strong and his daughter, her Grandma Patricia Asplund. It originated a few more generations ago in the East End of London, the Cockney sport of word play. Several generations later and it has sprung forth FULL BLOWN in Eliza!
I mean, I think it will be interesting. Maybe not.
Okay, okay, okay. First things first. We were just at one of Varna's three (3) malls, because it's one of our Edlers' (I like saying "Edler" instead of Elder, it is funny to me) birthday, and we wanted to go boweling/lazy tagging. (Bowling or laser tagging, translated from my special crazy pun language.)*
Second things second. Here I am in the Paradise of the Balkans. If my teachers are reading this, they were all DEAD wrong: first, Baba Vicky did NOT make us dinner; President Roth's wife did (it was very good and Actual, as opposed to the very non-actual plane food we had been ingesting that day). Also, my trainer is Sister Pantigoso, not Sister Kinkaid! You were all so wrong! And I am in Varna, not Sofia. Sister Pantigoso (or Sister Panti, as she frequently calls herself) is from Switzerland most recently, but was born in Peru. So she speaks Spanish and French and good English, and now Bulgarian. So her brain mostly works in French and Spanish, which makes things interesting here. Although the Spanish skillz have come in handy recently, as when we stop at a Bankomat (ATM dealy) and if there's a creepy guy nearby, I say quietly, "A la izquierda," as the case may be. (Because you never can tell when people here will speak English. At least three of our investigators are taught in English.)
Um, oh boy. Let's see. Brain is overloaded. OH! Just so everyone knows this, I am an Idiot who is very Un-Streetwise. Why, you ask? On the way to the aforementioned mall, we were on the Most Crowded Bus Ever, such that I had to wedge myself next to the doors and get smacked forward whenever they would open for a stop, all the time going "Sujliavam, sujliavam!" to all the little dyados and babas. (Cool, different words, you're all thinking!) Anyway, apparently at some point during that, this one girl who was near me took my wallet. So. I don't have my wallet anymore. Oh well! Ha ha ha, Europe! Oh, Europe, you scamp! Your fake showers and very thin toilet seats and insistence upon making yogurt models look very sexual! Oh, also, Taylor Jackboy: you win. I really do like Europe. FINE. Also, Tatyana Iceboy: this place reminds me SO MUCH OF YOU. Everybody walks everywhere in high heeled boots and looks like they just got back from a hike/a thrift store. I understand you/Eastern Europe now.
So I got my wallet stolen like a chump from Tennessee, but at least she didn't get my camera! Because it was in a magical Lisa Simpson sock! So there will be some pictures with this, I think.
Here are some last-day-in-the-MTC shoutouts: Chioma! This is for you! Do you know that when those dudes brought your present to my classroom, I lit'rally burst into tears of joy? You are so nice. You have a huge, beachside resort house in heaven. Also, who sent me that bag of wool tights? Lara? Jesus? Well, they were very smart. Because it's pretty cold here. It was like negative 20 C (Celsius freaks me out, man) in Sofia, the day when we got off the plane, drank a class of cok (juice! who made up that word??), and immediately went to go "contact" "people" in the "Bulgarian" "language." Ha ha ha. That was quite the time.
So we actually have a lot of investigators here, which is great because there is very little chance, in my mind, that I could ever intelligibly talk to someone and attract them to being taught, unless I used one of those cane things they use to pull people offstage. But I guess we just . . . teach people in Bulgarian? Also, BLOCKS! I can't attach pictures it turns out, but everyone google "Bulgarian blocks" and you'll see the huge concrete blokove that we go teaching/contacting in much of the day. They're huge and dirty and wood smokey and full of differently colored windows, and kind of . .. really visually appealing? In a hipster way? It makes me angry because you know the Urban Outfitters/Anthropologie style of decorating? It turns out they just took it from a baba's block apartment from 1970. And made it lamer/more technology-y. And took out all the potatoes.
We did streetboarding on my first day, Friday, which was pretty much the scariest experience of my life, for some reason. Essentially, you get a board with some exciting picture/idea on it related to the gospel, like a giant board used for REACH or a seventh grade science project, and stand by it in the center of Varna going "Dober den! Dober den! Kak si? Znaete li za tazi vipros?" while people laugh/spit upon you/say things you can't understand. One time a guy actually stopped and said something to me like this: "Mumuble mumble communism haresva mi mumble!" and I said "Kakbo vi haresva?" (Which is like, what do you like? Because I thought he said something about liking something.) And then Pantigoso had to come help me out, and eventually he just counted the Holy Trinity on his fingers, made a fist, and shook it at us going, "Protantisti! Protantisti! Slojna rabota!" That comes up a lot. "Slojna rabota." It's like, literally, 'heavy work,' but basically means, 'That's some crazy weird crap you're doing, and I think you're evil and stupid.' So cool!
Also, remember how every googled thing about Bulgaria tells you about the opposite nodding thing? Well, that's no joke man. EVERY missionary here does it. My trainer, when I first met her and asked her if she was excited, said, "So excited! Yes!" while vigorously shaking her head from left to right. Which means, yes. And I already have started nodding for no and shaking for yes, but sometimes I'll catch myself and get confused. So it's bad. I'm just going to hold my head perfectly still, maybe in a helmet, for the rest of my life.
We have an AC/DC mug in my apartment! I'm forgetting all the little things I wanted to talk about! Okay, I love you all! Continue to email me, plz! eliza.e.campbell@myldsmail.net! Keep it up! Hsichko hubavo! I love you!
* Editor's note: Eliza has inherited this gift of wordplay from her Great-Grandpa Joe Strong and his daughter, her Grandma Patricia Asplund. It originated a few more generations ago in the East End of London, the Cockney sport of word play. Several generations later and it has sprung forth FULL BLOWN in Eliza!
Friday, February 17, 2012
Varna
Hello Friends, Family, and Fans,
Eliza called yesterday (Thursday, February 16) to let us know that she had safely arrived in her first mission area, Varna, on the coast of the Black Sea. (See here for information: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Varna)
When she and her companion arrived in Sofia, they were given a meal and then sent out in the cold (-20 degrees celsius!) to meet and greet the good people of Bulgaria. She was jet-lagged and cold, but excited to be speaking and sharing.
She met her new companion the next day, and they took a seven hour bus ride to Varna.
You can e-mail her here: eliza.campbell@myldsmail.net
You can write to her here: Sister Eliza Emily Campbell
Bulgaria Sofia Mission
Ul. Marin Drinov 21
1504 Sofia
Bulgaria
Eliza called yesterday (Thursday, February 16) to let us know that she had safely arrived in her first mission area, Varna, on the coast of the Black Sea. (See here for information: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Varna)
When she and her companion arrived in Sofia, they were given a meal and then sent out in the cold (-20 degrees celsius!) to meet and greet the good people of Bulgaria. She was jet-lagged and cold, but excited to be speaking and sharing.
She met her new companion the next day, and they took a seven hour bus ride to Varna.
You can e-mail her here: eliza.campbell@myldsmail.net
You can write to her here: Sister Eliza Emily Campbell
Bulgaria Sofia Mission
Ul. Marin Drinov 21
1504 Sofia
Bulgaria
Monday, February 13, 2012
Eliza's Last MTC Mail!
Oh hey everyone. I'm going to Buglaria tomorrow. That's right, Bug-laria. That store that sells all the replicas of bugs, and bug-related products. Bugs and bug accessories, to quote Hank Hill (is that even still REALITY?)
I'm going to TRY as HARD as I CAN to not write things like "This is so weird" or "I can't believe this is happening!" or, heaven forbid, the two "haha"s with no spaces in between. (Ha ha ha ha with spaces is funnier because it's meta. And also reminds me of chain emails from strangers) Because, yes, obviously, this is all very bizarre. But also, yes, obviously, many a person has done this before, and could tell me in detail how and where and why everything was weird. And also, I can believe this is happening. I waited SIX MONTHS to get to the MTC and then TWO MONTHS to "learn Bulgarian" and TWO MONTHS to find out if our visas were even coming and if we would even get to go. I feel pretty ready to be in the country of Bulge-area. But that said, it's not like I deserve it or anything. It's not something I'm entitled to. That's something that I have learned here, and that I hope every elder/sister/drelder/elderly couple learns as a missionary: that none of us deserve this, really. None of us are qualified. To walk around and presume to know how to prompt and direct people's individual conversions? To talk to them about the things closest to their hearts and farts? To wear Jesus' name? (Cornball alert.) Nope, none of us deserve to or are ready to do this, no matter how much college we've been to/how much we know about Culture and Life/how many of our relatives are descended from pioneers. But since God is super nice and chill, he blesses us with this opportunity, and qualifies us with the Spirit to be able to, somehow, do what we're doing.
Corn! Corn for everyone! Hot off the cob!
In case everyone hasn't heard the story yet, yes, we did in fact get our visas. A while ago we got our travel plans, which told us we would be leaving from SLC to Chicago to London to Sofia on February 14th. Then we sat around in anxious, sweaty (always sweaty) excitement, struggling to learn how to say "to explain" in Bulgarian (obyasnyavam/obyasnya), etc. Then, last Thursday, we went to the travel office to ask The Question. The Visa Question. (It's funny because in Bulgarian, "it depends" is "za visi." And visas is "visi." GET IT?) And they told us, as we had expected, that no, we didn't have our visas, since we had gone to the consulate so late (only five weeks ago!), and that we were getting reassigned to Tucson, Arizona (me and Sis. Farn.) and Mesa (Eld. Bry.) So then we spent a day allowing people to feel sorry for us, but getting excited about the prospect of preaching in English (cool!) And THEN during our millions-of-hours-long in-field orientation on FRIDAY, we randomly (well, not randomly, I guess...) got a note in our mailbox asking us to go back to the travel office. And then it was a MIRACLE! VISAS WERE THERE! WE JUMPED AND SCREAMED! HOW UNDIGNIFIED!
But . . . it's happening. Tomorrow, at 4 AM, we will take off for the SLC airport on our way to Sofia, Bulgaria. Kolko hubavo y stranen.
BUT ANYWAY. These things of are little consequence, really. Even to people not serving full-time missions, the places where we're placed to serve and learn can seem random, and really, they are not that important. We're placed where we're placed for specific reasons, but the only reason we should care is the extent to which we can grow and serve others. (More corn, plus a little cheese.)
I had a weird fever-dreamy-y thought last night as I was plummeting down to sleep (it's never really "drifting" around here). And it was: I'm going to tell everyone how true this Church is! Yeah! No one will shut me up! Ha ha ha ha ha! I'm sleepy!
So here I go: if anyone happens to be reading this, family, friends, and stalkers, I want all of you to know that God does know you by name and face, and could probably pick you out from just a fingerprint too, if the time came. I know The Church, especially for people raised within its slightly-spiralling walls, can seem like a judgmental, limited, perplexing cultural institution, more than anything else. And I've definitely thought that before, in times when my faith wasn't as strong. But nowhere else, and no time else, have I felt as much peace, strength and pure happiness as I have studying, teaching, and trying to live the Gospel of Jesus Christ. I know there is no pain, confusion, frustration, sadness, or sickness that the Atonement of Jesus Christ can't cover and reconcile. I'm just saying what I've felt and seen, not anything someone told me to say, or something I wish were true.
And finally, if anyone reading this has ever felt hurt or rejected or sad or ashamed as a result of something I've said or done, I'm truly sorry. I don't want to be the cause of anyone else's pain. that's what I've learned being in here. The fact that I'm being trained to go and be the cause of other people's joy means that, by definition, I have to actively work to never be the cause of anyone's pain.
Okay, final business. Chioma, I wrote to you! Like three times! I'm sorry! I hope you got them? And Mom and Dad and Mimi and Thomas: I love you. I miss you more than anything. I'll see you all again someday, hopefully in front of a television playing The Simpsons or the Marx Brothers to distract us from the fact that we just love to be together doing nothing.
I love you guys! Keep on smilin'!
I'm going to TRY as HARD as I CAN to not write things like "This is so weird" or "I can't believe this is happening!" or, heaven forbid, the two "haha"s with no spaces in between. (Ha ha ha ha with spaces is funnier because it's meta. And also reminds me of chain emails from strangers) Because, yes, obviously, this is all very bizarre. But also, yes, obviously, many a person has done this before, and could tell me in detail how and where and why everything was weird. And also, I can believe this is happening. I waited SIX MONTHS to get to the MTC and then TWO MONTHS to "learn Bulgarian" and TWO MONTHS to find out if our visas were even coming and if we would even get to go. I feel pretty ready to be in the country of Bulge-area. But that said, it's not like I deserve it or anything. It's not something I'm entitled to. That's something that I have learned here, and that I hope every elder/sister/drelder/elderly couple learns as a missionary: that none of us deserve this, really. None of us are qualified. To walk around and presume to know how to prompt and direct people's individual conversions? To talk to them about the things closest to their hearts and farts? To wear Jesus' name? (Cornball alert.) Nope, none of us deserve to or are ready to do this, no matter how much college we've been to/how much we know about Culture and Life/how many of our relatives are descended from pioneers. But since God is super nice and chill, he blesses us with this opportunity, and qualifies us with the Spirit to be able to, somehow, do what we're doing.
Corn! Corn for everyone! Hot off the cob!
In case everyone hasn't heard the story yet, yes, we did in fact get our visas. A while ago we got our travel plans, which told us we would be leaving from SLC to Chicago to London to Sofia on February 14th. Then we sat around in anxious, sweaty (always sweaty) excitement, struggling to learn how to say "to explain" in Bulgarian (obyasnyavam/obyasnya), etc. Then, last Thursday, we went to the travel office to ask The Question. The Visa Question. (It's funny because in Bulgarian, "it depends" is "za visi." And visas is "visi." GET IT?) And they told us, as we had expected, that no, we didn't have our visas, since we had gone to the consulate so late (only five weeks ago!), and that we were getting reassigned to Tucson, Arizona (me and Sis. Farn.) and Mesa (Eld. Bry.) So then we spent a day allowing people to feel sorry for us, but getting excited about the prospect of preaching in English (cool!) And THEN during our millions-of-hours-long in-field orientation on FRIDAY, we randomly (well, not randomly, I guess...) got a note in our mailbox asking us to go back to the travel office. And then it was a MIRACLE! VISAS WERE THERE! WE JUMPED AND SCREAMED! HOW UNDIGNIFIED!
But . . . it's happening. Tomorrow, at 4 AM, we will take off for the SLC airport on our way to Sofia, Bulgaria. Kolko hubavo y stranen.
BUT ANYWAY. These things of are little consequence, really. Even to people not serving full-time missions, the places where we're placed to serve and learn can seem random, and really, they are not that important. We're placed where we're placed for specific reasons, but the only reason we should care is the extent to which we can grow and serve others. (More corn, plus a little cheese.)
I had a weird fever-dreamy-y thought last night as I was plummeting down to sleep (it's never really "drifting" around here). And it was: I'm going to tell everyone how true this Church is! Yeah! No one will shut me up! Ha ha ha ha ha! I'm sleepy!
So here I go: if anyone happens to be reading this, family, friends, and stalkers, I want all of you to know that God does know you by name and face, and could probably pick you out from just a fingerprint too, if the time came. I know The Church, especially for people raised within its slightly-spiralling walls, can seem like a judgmental, limited, perplexing cultural institution, more than anything else. And I've definitely thought that before, in times when my faith wasn't as strong. But nowhere else, and no time else, have I felt as much peace, strength and pure happiness as I have studying, teaching, and trying to live the Gospel of Jesus Christ. I know there is no pain, confusion, frustration, sadness, or sickness that the Atonement of Jesus Christ can't cover and reconcile. I'm just saying what I've felt and seen, not anything someone told me to say, or something I wish were true.
And finally, if anyone reading this has ever felt hurt or rejected or sad or ashamed as a result of something I've said or done, I'm truly sorry. I don't want to be the cause of anyone else's pain. that's what I've learned being in here. The fact that I'm being trained to go and be the cause of other people's joy means that, by definition, I have to actively work to never be the cause of anyone's pain.
Okay, final business. Chioma, I wrote to you! Like three times! I'm sorry! I hope you got them? And Mom and Dad and Mimi and Thomas: I love you. I miss you more than anything. I'll see you all again someday, hopefully in front of a television playing The Simpsons or the Marx Brothers to distract us from the fact that we just love to be together doing nothing.
I love you guys! Keep on smilin'!
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Flyin' to Sofia-Marni's Post
Hello friends! On Thursday Greg and I both received calls from a mysterious 801 phone number. It was Eliza calling to let us know that she would be going to Tuscon until her visa arrives. She was a little subdued, a little off-center, but excited to be going into the mission field. She was a little concerned about her mission clothes, which are mostly in the warm and wooly eastern European idiom.
Eliza, Amelia, and I were able to talk for a long time. We laughed and I cried, and it was so good to hear her voice.
Yesterday afternoon, Friday, I saw the same number on my phone. It was Eliza again, calling to say that a miracle had happened--their Bulgarian visas had arrived! She, her companion, and one elder (there are just three of them in her District) are leaving at 4 am on Tuesday, February 14, to fly to Chicago, then London, and then Sofia, Bulgaria. She is thrilled! Nervous! Ready to wear her warm coat and boots in the cold and snowy climes of Bulgaria.
You will note her address in Bulgaria on the sidebar. I will post information about mailing to Bulgaria shortly.
So happy Valentine's Day to you all, and safe travels to our Eliza.
Eliza, Amelia, and I were able to talk for a long time. We laughed and I cried, and it was so good to hear her voice.
Yesterday afternoon, Friday, I saw the same number on my phone. It was Eliza again, calling to say that a miracle had happened--their Bulgarian visas had arrived! She, her companion, and one elder (there are just three of them in her District) are leaving at 4 am on Tuesday, February 14, to fly to Chicago, then London, and then Sofia, Bulgaria. She is thrilled! Nervous! Ready to wear her warm coat and boots in the cold and snowy climes of Bulgaria.
You will note her address in Bulgaria on the sidebar. I will post information about mailing to Bulgaria shortly.
So happy Valentine's Day to you all, and safe travels to our Eliza.
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