:::A Tale of Two Cities:::

Dickens theme of two weeks' running unintentional; I just did a
quick reread and realized he worked for this subject, too.

You All:::

I find our resident rat impressively acrobatic and quite agreeable;
just yesterday he made a stunning dash across our kitchen and up the
window shade to freedom, from whence he took the stairs at a tip-toe
tilt up the spiral railing and away out the terrace. I actually
applauded, I was so pleased. The other sisters, however, did not. They
do not like the rat. "He steals our potatoes!" they say, and I tell
them to lock them in the pantry cupboard where they should be, anyway.
"He trashes our trash!" they cry, and I mention that perhaps maybe we
only need tieup the trash bag for the night. They won't have it. The
rat is still a rat. They want him dead. They bought a trap and set the
bait. I started a liberation front, but have yet to come up with a
name any better than S.P.E.W., so the buttons are pending. And in the
meanwhile, my little rat's much smarter than any wire trap or cheap
cheese lure, thank you very much, and together we will fight the good
fight.

Oh, the daily battles of Indonesia. I only wish it were always so easy
as cat-and-mouse.

President came to Bandung today for another round of Cafe Bali,
bearing with him the latest pulang pergi [E and SisL's "there and back again"
weekly missive] from SisLily (packaged in Tim Tam wrappers woven into an
envelope---clever girl) and therefore, all the news from Java Timor. It was not good.
[Tale from that City not posted here.]
-----
But . . . It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. There
is some good in this world, and there are people willing to fight for
it. Like Elder Greenwell, who is proving against all odds that
Obedience and Hard Work do prevail out in Yogya. Three baptisms in
three months and another one next week. He and his companion plan
every night, make goals, and accomplish them. He's single-handedly
created the opportunity to teach English five times a week there,
which is where they've found all of their current investigators (for a
total of twenty).

Here in Bandung there is the A___ family; their oldest son on a
mission, the dad and other two boys always at church, but their RM
mother most usually a no show. Last week I proposed we stop by this
past Monday for FHE. My companions (I'm in a trio now, with grudgingly
agreed to "try it." They grumbled even more when I
made them actually plan for it. But the point is that we did it, and
it worked. Really well. One of my more favorite experiences of the
mission so far that also made me realize how much more favorite all of
this could become if we could pull of "Real Missionary Work" all the
time. Will work on that, too.

But anyway, the A___s. Really love them, especially after finally
meeting their mother. She has raised remarkably sweet and outstanding
boys, so of course she was sweet and outstanding herself, but the
mystery as to why she still never makes it to church (esp. since the
rest of the family is always, always there, so transportation's
obviously not the problem) remains unsolved. We taught out of the
January Liahona* from the parting editorial on the back page about
searching for (and finding) God. We read from Jeremiah and testified
from verses in the Book of Mormon. It was a super feel-good lesson,
though I mostly chalk that up to the stark contrast in Spirit you find
from only stepping over the simple concrete thresholds into these
Member homes. Though their houses are just as small, cramped, spare or
broken as the next, the protective magic of expanded blessing and
light is undeniable. Monday night, when their seven year old led us
in his favorite hymn---shoot, don't remember the English . . the one
about the 99 and the 1? Dear to the Heart of the Shepherd, maybe? And
yes, it is his favorite, sung aloud with gusto and truest Indonesian
tone deafness---and his dad said the opening prayer, and their fifteen-year-
old son stood to bring their stack of Kitab-kitab Mormon from a
set-aside, sacred shelf in their living room without being asked as
the study began, I felt there couldn't be more beautiful gestures the
world over as the simplest ones I'd just been witness to. Afterwards,
when their little boy was dead asleep on the couch and Sister A finished
regaling us with her own mission stories (way back then she got to
live at Senopati, too, with a maid to cook and clean!), Brother A
suddenly cleared his throat as we were preparing to leave. "Hold on,"
he said, waving us toward the couch again. "I need to thank you." We
sat back down, aware of the hour but this seemed serious. He was a
long time before continuing, the clock at a slow tick as the older boy
watched his father patiently. "Maybe . . ." he began. "Maybe. . .I
have learned something new tonight. Or, actually, I have remembered."
He looked up at us again. "We do not usually have Family Home
Evening," he confessed. "Or, if we do, it is a short prayer and a
verse of scripture before I decide there are more important things to
do, like stock the store or replace the water filter." He kind of
laughed, then, embarrassed. "But this, this is important. Family Home
Evening is not just song and scripture, it is more sacred than that.
It is where we learn and teach and testify to each other of Christ,
and I want to thank you for doing that tonight. For helping me to
remember what I'd forgotten and what I need to seek again. Maybe . . .
maybe I can follow your example and from here on out we will do as you
have shown us and really have Family Home Evening."

So. That was worth it.

Plus I got to ride a becak home, because we were late and still an
hour's walk from home, and even though we were late and exhausted I
still made my companions plan and discuss---TRULY discuss---what we
needed to plan for and care about, and then we had prayers and then at
least I went to bed on time and so I think, for this week at least, we
are doing the best we can do.

And this is starting to be a novel in it's own right . . . also there's the
prayer call, which means I've been here half an hour over my time
limit and must be going. I love you.

E


*Was the Ensign redesigned like the Liahona was? All moderned-up and
super white-spaced? I, of course, have an opinion, but in the matter
of time I will only say that I like it well enough and End of.